


Should Have Been Me

by FallinDeath



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Kidnapping, M/M, Mpreg, Non-Consensual Touching, Nudity, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Psychological Torture, Violence, Work In Progress, force-feeding of magical substances
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-06
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2017-12-10 14:55:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 34,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/787310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallinDeath/pseuds/FallinDeath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Danarius comes for Fenris, but takes Hawke instead when he realizes the Champion is pregnant with Fenris' children.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A prompt from the kink-meme.

Fenris woke in the middle of the night to a sound he didn't like. The space next to him was empty but still warm, very recently vacated. The white-haired elf threw back the heavy blankets and fought back a shiver when his bare feet met the freezing stone floor.

"Hawke?" he tried, then cleared his throat and tried again. "Hawke."

He heard a small groan from the corner of the room where the water basin was set on a small table. Fenris stood unconcerned with his nudity. There was no one in Hawke's house who would walk in unannounced. When his eyes adjusted he could see Hawke bent over the basin. Fenris came up behind him and laid a hand on his lover's shoulder.

"Salea? Are you all right?"

Salea coughed and Fenris wet a towel with the water from the pitcher and handed it to the rogue. Salea wiped his mouth with it and straightened.

"Thank you," he said, before clearing his throat. Fenris watched him carefully. Other than a flush in his cheeks that was quickly fading now that he was not straining to rid his stomach of his dinner earlier, Salea didn't appear sick. Fenris reached up and pulled Salea's long black hair over his shoulder and out of his face.

"You want a drink?"

Salea nodded.

Fenris poured a cup from the pitcher and watched his lover gulp it down.

"Come back to bed," Fenris said helping his lover with no more than a light touch at his lower back. Salea went willingly, clearly exhausted. He held the covers while Salea climbed in and huddled in the blankets with a shiver. Fenris crawled in after him and Salea turned to face him curling into his embrace. The elf kissed his lover's brow. "Are you sick?" Fenris finally asked.

Salea looked up at him with a frown. "No," he said. "I don't think so."

Fenris searched those beautiful golden-brown eyes. "Has this been going on long?"

Salea looked away. "About three weeks."

"Three weeks," Fenris said darkly. "And you didn't say anything?"

"Fen, please," Salea looked back at him. "Tommorow? We'll talk tomorrow."

Fenris didn't like it, but he agreed. Salea was obviously tired and in no shape to argue.

Hawke was a source of strength and reason for all who knew him well. It was hard to see him reveal weakness of any kind simply because Salea so rarely let it show. He was always too busy making his companions feel good about what they had to do and forget the hard times. Salea was small in stature for a human. He was good at what he did, deft with his hands whether they were wielding blades or lock picks. Salea moved through battle with a grace only one as lithe and quick as he was could accomplish. Whether Salea was laughing with their companions at the Hanged Man, encouraging them to stand for their beliefs, or standing up against Qunari Arishoks, it was easy to forget he wasn't invincible.

But now, wrapped in Fenris' arms he felt every bit as small as he was. Fenris didn't like not knowing. Salea was keeping something from him, he was certain.

* * *

The next morning when Fenris woke he knew instantly his arms were empty of a certain Hawke. At least this time he didn't waken to retching. He knew without looking around that he was completely alone. He let out a hefty sigh before sitting up, then smiled. In the middle of the room was a large bathing tub. The water still hot if the steam was anything to go by. Salea must have had Sandal bring it up for him.

Once Fenris had settled into the muscle-loosening heat he leaned his head back and thought about the night before. Things had been busy the last couple of weeks. Fenris hadn't been able to see much of his lover let alone sit down and talk with him. Which is why he missed out on the little detail that Hawke has been throwing up for three weeks!

Fenris scowled at the ceiling. He really didn't like that. There weren't supposed to be any secrets between them. Not anymore. They had agreed to always speak their minds, as well. Leaving important issues up to guessing games was a needless aggravation. So, why hadn't Salea told him? There had been chances, albeit brief ones, but he could have told him. A sliver of bitterness entered his heart as the thought that he was probably the last to know came to him. He squashed that feeling quickly. Hawke wouldn't do that to him. He _trusted_ Salea. Those days of being alone—having no one to depend on—were over.

Finally, he decided the most likely scenario was that Salea was keeping it to himself so as not to burden anyone else with his problems. A habit Fenris was trying to—not break him of—but at least lessen. He was proud that Hawke was so strong. But just as Fenris had trusted the Champion with his past and burdens, Salea needed to allow his willing lover to help him carry the load. Fenris needed to be needed.

After his bath Fenris went downstairs to the dining room where he found Salea cheerfully helping himself to a large breakfast of griddlecakes, fruit, eggs, bacon…there was more but Fenris' eyes were for his Hawke. Salea smiled at him. Fenris joined him. At least whatever was wrong hadn't diminished Salea's generous appetite in the slightest. For now that was good enough.

After their meal when Fenris brought it up again, Salea assured him he was going to see Anders that afternoon. Fenris insisted on going with him, to which Salea then insisted that the warrior had to wait outside during the examination. And so, that is where we was now standing against the dirt-crusted wall sneering at innocent passersby and skittering rats alike.

* * *

Inside the clinic Anders was kneeling in front of the Champion of Kirkwall, his hands pressed to the smaller man's naked stomach. No one else was there. Anders had made certain to clear everyone away for a single hour that day. For this.

After several minutes of silence Salea was practically vibrating with his need to fidget but he didn't dare.

"Well?" he finally demanded.

Anders looked up at him, could see the eagerness in his friend's eyes, but also the quiet fear of disappointment.

The mage smiled at him.

"It worked," he said.

Hawke's eyes grew wide and he just stared down at the mage. A knit in his brow revealed just how much he'd been expecting to hear something negative and it was taking him a time to process what Anders actually said.

"It worked?" It was a disbelieving whisper.

Anders stood nodding, unable to stop smiling.

"The little tykes are healthy, too, as far as I can tell, though they're not quite _babies_ yet," Anders continued. "You're a little over two months along." The mage turned to straighten supplies on the table to allow Salea to pull his shirt back on—to hide his hurt. In the beginning Anders certainly hadn't hidden his interest in the smaller man. But Hawke had fallen heavily for the mage-hating elf before even Salea realized. Anders could see it, when Hawke gently turned him down. Salea wanted Fenris.

Anders wanted to kill the broody elf who questioned Salea's every move, who argued and cursed everything having to do with magic. The mage wanted to hit him and scream how unfair it was that Salea already belonged to Fenris if the elf would have him. How unfair it was that that damned elf had Hawke's love and didn't even know it.

…until that night. Salea's first. He'd given Fenris his first and the elf walked out on him, too scared to face something as good and pure as Salea's love. Too cowardly to believe they could overcome whatever difficulties arose together.

As much as it hurt Salea when Fenris walked away that night, as much as it hurt the others to see Hawke hurting, Anders couldn't help hoping that now he had a second chance at the lovely man. But Hawke had given himself too much, too honestly, too deeply that he could not give up on the elf.

 _I love him_ , Salea told Anders with that sad smile that hid so much pain and longing.

Salea remained faithful. Turned down many prospects and offers both from within their tight-knit group and without.

Anders knew he should move on himself, perhaps find someone, or at least defeat his own longing for Salea. But at the back of his mind he kept hoping that when Hawke finally gave up waiting for Fenris to come around, Anders would be the one he turned to.

Unfortunately, that's not at all what happened.

Once Anders felt he had his emotions under control and his expression composed, he turned back to his friend. Salea hadn't moved a muscle to redress himself. He simply stood staring at the mage.

Anders frowned. "What? Is something wrong?" He reached out with a gentle hand to Hawke's belly. "Are you in pain?"

" _Babies_?" Salea finally whispered.

Anders stared at him in confusion, then smiled with understanding.

"Oh, yes," he chuckled at his friend's shocked face. "Twins. Two of them. You have…two— _whoa_ , now." He steadied his swaying companion with both hands on his upper arms. "Steady now, Hawke. You have to face your lover now." There was the slightest hesitation before he said _lover_ , but Salea was too shaky to notice.

Salea sat on a nearby crate and looked up at his friend with a certain determination.

"Don't tell him," he said.

Anders stared at him as if he were insane.

" _Don't tell him_? Hawke, there are a few things he's bound to notice."

"Not yet," Salea insisted. "I want to wait. Make sure the danger of miscarriage is mostly passed. I wouldn't want to get his hopes up for nothing." Salea looked at the dirt floor. "I don't even know if he wants this," he muttered, a little dejectedly.

Anders could only think of how he would feel if Salea came to _him_ with such news. Knowing how much the rogue was willing to go through and risk for the chance of a family… The mage had to quell that line of thinking. Hawke was _not_ his. Those are _not_ his children.

"I will not speak for your broody lover," Anders said slowly. "But I cannot imagine the joy he will feel knowing you would do this with him—for him." He smiled for his friend, coaxing one in return out of the smaller man. "What you're doing is amazing and he will see that."

Salea shook his head with a growing smile, a tad surprised that he for once was having to be cheered up by one of his companions. "Thank you, Anders," he said, lifting a hand. Anders grasped it and pulled the Champion to his feet.

"You are most welcome."

* * *

When Salea and Anders emerged from the clinic Hawke practically knocked Fenris off his feet with a most enthusiastic embrace. The mage informed him that Salea had contracted an infection from an earlier injury and the vomiting was Salea's body's reaction to purge his system. He then warned the elf that this would go on for another couple of weeks, but that he'd given Salea an elixir and it was best to allow the infection to run its course.

It was all a load of dog shit.

Fenris listened with only half an ear, watching the lie dance behind the mage's eyes as he spoke. Salea went along with it. Fenris fought with himself over whether or not to be furious with his lover and the abomination as he and Hawke returned to the mansion. He knew what Anders said was not the truth and Salea was in on it, but he also knew that Salea would never do anything to hurt him.

Whatever the matter, Salea was overcome with a happiness that Fenris did not quite understand. When the rogue pushed him onto the bed and climbed on top of him, Fenris had to ask.

"Where is this coming from?" He couldn't hide the smirk that curved his lips right before Salea kissed them.

Pulling away Salea opened the elf's shirt and ran the palms of his hands over the lyrium-tattooed chest.

"It's just," Hawke gave him a gentle smile, "right now, life is good." He paused and a flash of pain and regret crossed his handsome face. "My mother will finally get something she wanted for a long time."

Fenris did not understand what that _something_ was, but he did not press. The death of Salea's mother, the last member of his immediate family, still ached heavily in the rogue's heart. Whatever he and Anders were keeping secret must have something to do with Leandra and so he would not demand answers. Salea would reveal it to him in time. Of that he had no doubt.

* * *

Salea's eyes opened slowly the next morning. He shifted beneath the sheets and was met with a subtle ache he knew all too well. The feeling brought a lazy smile to his lips. Fenris, despite his lithe figure, was incredibly strong. Whether it was because of the lyrium etched throughout his body which granted him such inhuman strength, or the physical toning of wielding that massive sword he carries, his strength was part of what made him an excellent lover. Salea nuzzled his face into his pillow remembering their first night. Fenris' past had made him strong, but his love made him gentle. Back then the elf had been so cautious, hopeful. Afraid that if he allowed himself to care about anything he would one day destroy it, or be betrayed by it. He'd held Salea that night as though he would break him, as if he did not trust himself to be able to control his own power. But Salea gave him everything and happily took everything Fenris gave in return once the caution had faded in sight of passion.

Though the morning after was counted among the darkest of Salea's young life, he remembered that night with significant fondness.

Salea knew Fenris would be gone as he often was before the Champion awoke. He'd expected it. What he didn't expect was the note on what had become Fenris' side of the bed. Salea smiled warmly at the sight of the child-like scrawl. Teaching his lover to read had been slow, but not necessarily difficult. Fenris was incredibly smart he'd just never been given the chance to prove it. However, his writing 'left much to be desired' as Hawke's mother had put it. Salea loved it, though, running his fingers over the chicken-scratch letters. It endeared the elf to him even more.

_Salea,_

_I wanted to be with you when you woke, but there is something I need to check up on. It may take a few days. We_ _will_ _talk soon. I have a feeling there is something you wish to tell me and there is something I wish to share with you in return. I_ _love you. Please do not do anything foolish while I am away from you._

_Fenris_

Salea sighed and got up to wash and dress.

"The only times I do anything _really_ foolish is when I am with _you_ ," he said out loud to the empty room. Since things were a bit slow now, and without Fenris to keep him company he figured a trip to the Hanged Man was in order. Maybe he'd see if Varic had any hits for some small jobs. Or if Isabela had found anything on Castillon's whereabouts yet.

Nothing too big, he hoped. He wasn't one to sit idly by—he needed to keep himself busy. But nothing too strenuous. He did not want to do anything to hurt the babies. He sighed again. That meant no more drinking games with Varic and everyone; except Sebastian. The archer did not "desecrate" his body with such foul drink…anymore, but he certainly enjoyed watching and laughing while his friends did. One time Merrill had insisted on joining them, though she had never drunk more than one at a time when Isabela tried to get her to "expand her horizons". She had turned out to be a fine drinker to everyone's surprise. But as it turned out the sneaky elf was using a spell to turn her ale to water. So while everyone else was falling of their stools with empty pockets, Merrill went home happily sober with a pouch of silvers. Isabela's influence, no doubt. Hawke looked forward to those nights, almost depended on them to break up the continuous fighting and killing.

Salea smiled with a soft rub over his hard stomach wondering how long before those muscles disappeared in favor of a soft mound.

 _Oh, well_ , he thought, _no more drink_. But in the end it would be well worth it.

* * *

As it turned out Isabela had found someone who would lead her directly to Castillon. The group ordered another round to discuss Isabela's plan and Salea refused the drink yet again. Varic complained the loudest, all in good fun of course, about how Salea never turned down a good drink, especially if someone else was paying for it, and so on, but Salea simply laughed it off. With a quick glance to Anders, a look the mage returned, the rogue was able to give an entirely reasonable excuse and the group moved on in topic.

Isabela's plan was certainly going to require fighting at some point, though it started out peacefully enough with Hawke 'betraying' her to Castillon's man posted in the city. Salea was uncertain. He did not wish to risk the babies, but he could not find an excuse good enough without revealing his predicament that Isabela would accept for his going back on his earlier promise to help her. He never broke his word.

And so he agreed.

When Anders opened his mouth to protest a single meaningful glare from Salea shut him up. However, the mage demanded that he be part of the group accompanying Hawke.

Salea killed Castillon when the man showed up. Isabela was angry at first. She'd been willing to simply barter with the man, but Salea had seen the documents of the 'business' the man was in. The number of slaves passing through his hands was intolerable. Fenris would have never forgiven the man being allowed to live and continue his work, and Salea could not have lived with the guilt. He was fairly easily able to convince Isabela of the rightness in killing Castillon. She blamed Salea for forcing his morals onto her, but she was an intelligent woman and not really so heartless as she'd like everyone to think. She'd already allowed an entire shipload of slaves to escape and that was before she'd ever met the Champion.

In the end, Isabela had her own ship again and could finally stop looking over her shoulder for Castillon's goons. According to her, (Salea took her word for it, knowing very little about ships himself), it was a fine vessel. She named it the Siren's Call II, after her first prized ship that was lost trying to escape some very angry Qunari.

With that complication done and over with, Salea returned home early to rest rather than remain at the Hanged Man with the others. Helping Isabela had taken a little over four days in planning and executing, and yet Fenris had still not returned. Salea knew the letter said he'd be gone for a few days, meaning that Fenris did not know just how long it would take. But he'd hoped the elf would be back by now. He missed him.

He went to bed early that night, exhausted from the mission with Isabela and feeling the heavy loneliness of his empty bed in his empty house. He rubbed a hand over his belly while he drifted off thinking of how much he wished to feel the babies' movements already. At least that miraculous flutter of life would have been a comfort to him as he slipped into the darkness of dreams and nightmares without his warrior lover at his side.

* * *

Salea floated into the realm of consciousness. He felt the mattress dip behind him. It was the middle of the night, he knew. The room would be pitch black so it was pointless to try to open his tired eyes. He should probably be afraid. An intruder in his room while he was so vulnerable. But he felt no malicious intent from the presence moving in behind him on the bed. He didn't understand how he could possibly know that, but he was too tired to riddle it out.

"Fenris?" he murmured, turning his head as if to look over his shoulder.

Someone shushed him gently before soft lips pressed against the place just behind his ear that made him shiver.

"Go back to sleep, love," the voice whispered, and Salea did.

* * *

Salea woke slowly the next morning. The sunlight through the window splashed across his bedspread making him so comfortably warm he didn't want to get up. Lying there he remembered his late night visitor and smiled. Turning over he faced Fenris' side of the bed and…nothing. His lover wasn't there. Fenris often got up before Salea to leave the manor before the streets outside filled with gossipers, but it didn't look like the blankets or sheets had even been disturbed.

Was it a dream? His lover's presence felt so real, though. Had he really been so desperate for his lover that he conjured such a realistic experience in his sleep-addled state?

The rogue sighed, pushing the covers away and sitting up. Downstairs he could hear Bodahn scolding Sandal for doing handstands on "the master's bookcase". Salea smiled. He was going to miss the dwarves when they left. Bodahn said once that their service wouldn't be permanent, after all. Salea understood their gratitude and their need to repay any debts they felt they owed Hawke for finding Sandal in the Deep Roads. What the rogue hadn't counted on was how close a friend he would find with the odd pair—how lonely the manor would be without them. First his little brother, then dear, lovely Bethany. Finally his beloved mother. All were taken from him so violently.

He pressed the heel of his hand into his eye to hold back the sudden hot tears. They simply slid down his other cheek.

Salea kissed the first knuckle of his other hand in remembrance, holding it to his lips until the aching in his heart abated. He lost his first family, yes, but now, by miracles and methods he still did not truly understand, he'd been given a second chance. He rubbed a loving hand over his lower belly. He would have a family again. Small and imperfect, but so cherished and so...so perfect.

* * *

Hawke walked a little aimlessly through the busy market in Hightown. He didn't have plans for the day really. Lately he was kind of taking things as they came. The destruction caused by the Qunari uprising was nearly yesterday's news, at least structurally. The people in Kirkwall were resilient, he gave them that. They handled the pain by throwing themselves into hard work, at least the lower classes did, and the fruits of their labor was an obvious improvement. Hardly a blackened scar from the fires on any of the buildings or walls.

The constant fighting between the Templars and mages had increased significantly, though. Knight Commander Meredith was turning into a beast of an enforcer, which only caused the mages to become more and more rebellious and desperate. It was a vicious cycle. Salea could see both sides of the coin. He understood that the Templars were there to control those few mages who had ill intentions, or were too weak-willed to resist demons. But Salea couldn't help but feel that it was more fear of the Templars and the Circle that caused mages to give in so willingly to those temptations. When an animal is backed against a wall with no escape it is only natural to grasp whatever route to freedom the poor thing can find.

He knew it was all going to come to a head at some point, but until then, until there was an obvious enemy, Salea found he and his fighting companions were wanting for things to do.

His wandering found him staring at the steps leading to the Viscount's Keep. Salea realized he hadn't seen Aveline in a while. It was probably about time for one of his famous, unannounced visits.

* * *

The door was ajar when Hawke approached the Captain's office.

"I need to know if it's a trap," Fenris demanded. Salea brightened at hearing his lover's voice. Without knocking, he pushed the door open and walked inside. He was so happy to see the elf it took him a moment to realize the anger and unrest radiating from the warrior as he paced in front of Aveline's desk.

"I did as you asked, Fenris." Aveline appeared at a loss. "Now it's up to you." Aveline stood to walk out. "You talk to him, Hawke. I've had my fill for today," she said to Salea before closing the door to her own office to give them privacy.

Fenris looked over his shoulder at Salea, a brief look of surprise flashing in his eyes. His lover was truly preoccupied about whatever this matter was if he didn't even notice Salea enter the room. His lover cursed angrily.

"Fenris?" Salea spoke up quietly. "Is there anything I can do?"

"It's my sister," Fenris growled in frustration turning away again to pace. "I followed up on the information Hadriana gave me. I'm sorry I didn't tell you. But I wanted to be certain first. Everything the bitch said was true." Fenris heaved a sigh and he looked so defeated. Salea could see how much his lover hoped, but was too afraid to believe. "Salea, I sent her a letter and money to come meet me."

"So, she's not a slave anymore. Did she come?" Salea stepped up to the elf, rested a hand on his forearm. By the snippets he overheard earlier, he knew the answer. The warrior nodded.

Fenris slipped a hand through Hawke's long, dark hair to squeeze the back of his lover's neck. He pulled their heads together so they touched.

"I apologize," Fenris said. "I had to keep it secret. Varania lives in Minrathous now. Danarius could be all over this. In fact, I'm almost certain he is. Come with me, Salea. I need you there with me."

Salea leaned in and kissed those soft lips he'd dreamed about too often in the elf's absence.

"Where is she?"

Fenris smiled, relieved. "I missed you, love," he said, pulling the small rogue into his embrace. His lips found that very same place behind Hawke's ear that made him tremble as it always did—as it did the night before.

"It _was_ you last night," Salea purred with a smile. "I thought you were a dream."

Fenris pulled back. "You can never trust dreams," he said. "But this," he traced his thumb over Salea's lips before kissing him deeply. "This, you can always trust," he murmured against his lover's mouth before kissing him again.

* * *

Fenris said they'd arranged it so that Varania would wait for him in the Hanged Man during the day, and that she would be there every day for a week. Salea had learned the importance of caution in his young lifetime, so he could not let Fenris go that day. No matter how much Fenris needed to just get this over with—needed to know if there was a relationship with family to be had or not; needed some answers to his past—Salea felt very strongly that they needed to scope everything out first before making a move.

The first two days Varic and Isabela surveyed the Hanged Man diligently. The two were there so often anyway that they would not look out of place to anyone there. At the end of both days the pair reported no suspicious activity. When Fenris asked, they confirmed sighting an elf woman who seemed very anxious, but she never spoke to anyone or met with anyone at any time. Salea had confirmed with Aveline that when Varania arrived by ship she did so alone, and there were no reports from her guard of anyone matching Danarius' description. At night when Varania left the tavern to return to the inn she was staying, Merrill and Sebastian trailed her. They also confirmed that she neither met with anyone, nor stayed with anyone. Salea did not think there was anything else he could do. The woman seemed very much to have simply come to see her long, lost brother, but Hawke could not shake the sick feeling in his stomach that something was wrong. He could not put this off any longer. With Anders' confirmation that he, and Justice, did not feel the presence of dark or blood magic at either the Hanged Man or the inn, Salea was out of excuses.

Still he hesitated. The thought of losing Fenris to the cruel blood mage left him sick at heart. It was unbearable—unthinkable. Maybe he was being too careful, but in this he could not allow failure. It simply wasn't an option.

He talked Fenris into waiting one more day to be certain, and then they would go the morning of the fourth day. Reluctantly Fenris agreed. Salea knew he wasn't happy, though. He growled out that he was going for a walk before storming out of the manor. If Danarius was in Kirkwall, nothing would stop him from simply snatching Fenris away at any moment he found his ex-slave alone. Salea looked pleadingly to Sebastian and the archer gave him a kind smile.

"Don't worry, Hawke," he said, his accent soft and his tone reassuring. "I'll look after our elf friend. Perhaps he'll go to the Chantry, and we'll pray together."

Salea chuckled. "Thank you, Sebastian," he said. Strangely enough the broody warrior and the covenanted archer agreed on many things. Their approval of each other's morals, philosophies, and actions lead to respect and a rather strange friendship. If Fenris would allow anyone to tail him now, it would be the well-meaning and honest Starkhaven prince.

Once Sebastian left and the others returned home, except Merrill who volunteered to continue to watch Varania's inn, Salea was left with only Anders standing next to him in the corridor leading to the main hall of the house.

"I don't want you to go," Anders said. Salea shook his head and turned to walk into the hall. Anders followed.

"I have to go," Salea said. "I will _not_ let Fenris do this alone."

"I worry about you. Since I told you you were pregnant you haven't taken it easy at all."

"Anders—"

"No," the mage interrupted. "Salea, you cannot go. You are at serious risk. And that risk goes beyond you now. You're putting those babies in jeopardy." A hurt look passed over Salea's face. "If something happens, if Danarius is there—all it takes is for you to get caught in the path of a spell and you will lose them."

The mage sighed heavily when his friend turned away from him. He felt badly for having to be so forward, but Hawke was being reckless. Anders knew it was because Salea's eyes and heart followed only after that bloody _elf_.

Anders shook his head and took a step back. Salea didn't love him. He needed to get past that. He could not make the rogue do anything he didn't want to do. Salea would go with Fenris to the Hanged Man because that is what one does for the ones they love. Anders watched the smaller man for a long time knowing without a doubt that he would do the same and so much more for someone he loved.

"Salea, I'm sorry," Anders said finally.

"Don't for a moment think that my every thought does not revolve around what is best for my babies," Salea said quietly, his voice hard as stone. "But Fenris is as important." The rogue turned around and looked up at the mage. "I am going with him. Now," he reached up to rest his hand on Anders' shoulder. "Do I have to do this without you, or will you have my back?"

Anders looked down at him with red-rimmed eyes. When he spoke his voice was soft, rough.

"I always have your back."

tbc


	2. Chapter 2

Finally the morning of the fourth day arrived, and Salea still felt it was unsafe. But he was not going to stop Fenris from meeting his sister. The warrior elf was completely prepared to see his old master there. He wanted to get it over with—face him, kill him, get on with life.

Hawke wanted everyone in on this, and he was relieved they all agreed. Aveline had a small unit secretly posted around the outside of the Hanged Man. Her husband, Donnic personally watching the rear entrances for anyone coming or going. Sebastian was positioned on the roof of a building across from the Hanged Man's front with his grandfather's bow ready. The others mingled and mixed with the other patrons of the bar. When Fenris entered the tavern with Salea at his side, none of them gave away any sign that they recognized them or had anything to do with them. The large main room was not as full as it would be later in the evening, but the tavern rarely had much of a slow time. It was the best tavern in Lowtown and very popular amongst the many who wanted to get drunk and had little coin to spend. Salea was relieved there was a bit of a crowd for it gave his companions cover. However, it also meant that Hawke's eyes roved anxiously over the many faces searching for enemies he did not know.

Even without Isabela's description of Fenris' sister Salea would have known her the moment he laid eyes on her. She was sitting alone at a table in the corner. Her fiery red hair was pulled back away from her slender, beautiful face. Salea was a little surprised by how pale she was compared to Fenris. There were small similarities in her face, but what was most strikingly familiar were the olive-green eyes that were identical to her brother's. They halted him in his tracks when they looked up at him before sliding over to Fenris.

"It really is you," she said, standing and walking slowly around the table.

"Varania?" Fenris said, a bit disbelieving. Salea could not blame him. After such a life, meeting the only family and link to a past he could not remember must feel very surreal. They did not embrace as Salea might have done were he in Fenris' place. His elf lover looked unsure of what exactly to do now that he was face to face with her. Varania, Salea couldn't help but feel, seemed uncomfortable, anxious…guilty? All of which was understandable, but at the same time raised Hawke's hackles. He scanned the room again. Everything appeared normal. No one paid them any attention except a casual glance or two from his curious companions.

"I," Fenris began slowly. "I remember you. We played in our master's courtyard while mother worked. You called me…"

"Leto," Varania offered. "That's your name."

Salea watched Fenris as his lover regained some of his memories. It made his heart ache to see the happiness brimming behind his lover's eyes at such a small thing as a memory.

 _Leto,_ she'd said…It was strange. Salea wondered briefly if Fenris would want to be called by his birth name now. It would take some getting used to.

Salea, lost in his own thoughts was not entirely listening to the small awkward talk between the siblings, when a sudden overwhelming, sickening feeling twisted in his belly. He felt immediately terrified but did not know what caused such an urgent fear. He looked around frantically.

_Run!_

They needed to leave. Thoughts flooded Salea's mind that were not his own. They were frantic and frightened, though they did not seem to have the knowledge yet to articulate what was so frightening. All Salea could sort out from the urgent, disorganized thoughts was that they needed to get away from this place.

Then with sudden understanding, Hawke knew these thoughts belonged to his unborn children. It did not seem possible, but at that moment he could feel a connection to the life inside him that he'd never felt before. It was strong and beautiful. He could hear the tiny heartbeats quickened with fear—an ugliness of the outside world that his babes should not have had to endure before they were born. Not yet.

He heard Fenris ask Varania, "What's wrong?"

The terror grew in him and Salea looked to the stairs rising to the second floor. It was coming. Getting closer. Hawke turned searching. His eyes met Anders' amongst the crowd. The mage was already pushing, working his way toward him.

"Why are you so…?" Fenris began, suspicion entering his voice as he regarded his sister.

Salea gripped the elf's arm in a vice-like grip. "Fenris," he warned desperately. "We have to get out of here!"

Fenris looked over at him—could feel his lover practically shaking through the grip on his arm. But the dark-haired human was staring at the top of stairs to their right as if he could see or sense something Fenris could not. Fenris' heart jumped and his blood boiled as a familiar form seemed to materialize out of nowhere at the top of the stairs, followed by many, many others. They moved slowly down each step behind the first, but Fenris' gaze, his hatred was only for the first. The proud, arrogant sway of the robed mage who haunted both his dreams and his steps. The man who gave him agony and etched lyrium into his veins. The man under whose command he had suffered only pain, humiliation, and crippling guilt because he'd known no other way to live than to serve loyally and obey absolutely. His master—

 _Danarius_.

"Ah, my little Fenris," the elder mage mocked quietly with a cruel smile. The soldiers and mages behind him fanned out to either side making a formidable line of defense. Suddenly Salea felt very outnumbered even as his band of friends and fighters gathered at his back. They'd been through worse odds before, he told himself, but this felt far worse somehow. Perhaps it was the fear from his unborn children effecting him, perhaps it was the raw power he saw in Danarius' eyes. Or, maybe it was the way he could feel Fenris, the unshakable warrior, struggle for control over his own fear of this Tevinter mage, the master who'd made him do terrible things with no more than a word. For the smallest moment Salea felt a fleeting fear. Would Fenris betray him if Danarius ordered it? Just as he'd turned on the Fog Warriors?

The rogue immediately felt ashamed and scolded himself for doubting his elf for even the briefest moment. Fenris was stronger now. He was not alone any more. There were people who cared for him; who would fight with him now. This time Danarius would find he did not have the same power over his former slave as he did before.

"You are predictable as always," Danarius continued, almost chastising his former pet.

"I'm sorry it came to this, Leto," Varania said quietly, backing away from the inevitable fight. Salea could not tell if she meant it or not.

Fenris turned his vehemence on her. " _You_. You led him here!"

It was not that Fenris was surprised by Danarius' appearance. He'd known from the beginning it had to be a trap, after all. It was that the betrayal came from someone who was supposed to care for him. It was one more instance of proof that the elf could not trust any one—that everyone looked out for themselves. It took Salea so long to earn Fenris' trust and his love. Salea had hoped he'd succeeded in showing him that there were good people in the world and some were worth fighting for. Some were worth loving. Salea was grateful when Fenris trusted him enough to reveal his weaknesses—when he trusted him with his heart. Now, he could see those walls slamming back into place behind his lover's hard eyes, distancing himself from one more hurtful betrayal.

"Now, now, Fenris," Danarius held up a hand, his condescending tone clearly audible. The other patrons of the bar had gone still and silent. They knew a bloody fight coming when they saw it, and many had already hastily cleared out. "She did what any good Imperial citizen should."

Fenris returned his hatred to his former master.

"I never wanted these _filthy_ markings, Danarius," he growled. "But I won't let you kill me to get them."

Danarius laughed. Salea did not like the knowing glint in the mage's eyes.

"How little you know, my pet," he said, shrewdly. His gaze lingered over the seething elf before sliding to Hawke. "And this is your new master then? The Champion of Kirkwall, is it?" Salea's skin crawled under that slithering, appraising gaze.

Salea's anger raged at the very suggestion that Fenris was still enslaved.

"Fenris doesn't belong to anyone," he said, hotly.

Danarius ignored him, or did not appear to have heard anything he said. Those strange eyes filled with evil and darker lusts continued to wander over his face leisurely. "Lovely," the blood mage murmured to himself as if the others were not there—as if Salea were livestock being measured for worth. Before anyone anticipated it, Danarius' hand was reaching to touch Hawke's face. Fenris drew his broadsword with a roar.

"Do not touch him," he yelled, putting himself between the mage and the rogue. Danarius blinked as though he hadn't realized what he was doing. Then a slow smile crawled across his lips.

On Salea's other side Anders moved up close placing his shoulder just in front of the rogue. Hawke wanted to push him away. He was perfectly capable of taking care of himself, he didn't need his lover or his friend coming to his rescue. But he could not deny the uneasy feeling that he knew was his own and not that of his unborn babes, when Danarius almost touched him. He'd felt unable to move.

Danarius chuckled, continuing to stare at Hawke as though he didn't have a hate-filled, murderous elf standing between them.

" _Doesn't belong to anyone_?" he repeated in a mocking, deprecating tone. "Do I detect a bit of jealousy? It's not surprising. The lad _is_ rather skilled, isn't he?"

"Shut your mouth, Danarius!" Fenris snarled.

Danarius rolled his shoulders back in annoyance. He looked at his former slave and it was obvious to everyone that the mage was done talking. Weapons were already sliding from their holdings when the mage growled out, "The word is 'master'."

* * *

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...and the battle continues...

It was immediate chaos after that. Salea was nearly blinded by the protection spell Anders threw over him and Fenris, and he was lucky his friend was so quick. Nearly a dozen stun and other more cruel spells lanced over the invisible barrier around them as Danarius and his other mages attacked. They were not the only threat, however. The Tevinter mage had brought many battle-hardened soldiers with him and their blades could not be turned aside by Anders' spell. Salea danced back separating a bit from Fenris and the others, as did they, to gain maneuverable space.

He drew his sword and short blade to fend against the first attackers. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sebastian charge through the tavern's front door to tackle a man threatening to overpower Isabela. Varric found a hold-off position on the bar man's counter, the dwarf having entirely too much fun dancing behind the thick posts to avoid spells and arrows while firing Bianca to his heart's content and kicking any who approached in the face. Salea ducked under a wide swing and plunged his short blade into the man's now vulnerable stomach, and as he rose he spun to swing his sword to slice another attacker's throat when he tried to slip up from behind. For a brief moment Hawke felt a fleeting fear for Merrill. The tavern provided little comfort room to stand back and cast spells and he worried the small elf would be overwhelmed…

He caught sight of the Dalish nymph back to back with Aveline, swinging her staff skillfully to easily knock back the enemy swords while delivering her fair share of skull-cracking hits. Salea smiled briefly before risking a glance to check on Fenris' safety all the while he tucked under another attack and spun out of reach dealing death as if it were a choreographed art. Fenris was fighting like a berserker. Salea had seen a few in his lifetime back in Ferelden—mostly dwarves. They were rather frightening. It made one hesitant to approach them for fear of losing a limb before the berserker recognized friend from foe. He wondered if such a distinction were possible while in such a state of mad rage and hate.

Fenris made them all look like green recruits.

The dark-clad warrior elf moved with a forceful vengeance, spinning through the enemy surging around him, swinging his enormous sword like Death's scythe. His lover was almost unrecognizable. The look in his eyes was bestial, his murderous rage frightening.

Salea, in watching his lover, nearly lost an eye as an attacker jabbed at his face. Hawke jumped back managing to escape the blade and upset the balance of another enemy coming up behind him. The man got an armful of rogue. The larger Tevinter wrapped his arms around Salea, pinning the Champion's arms to his sides while the first attacker moved to take advantage of his vulnerability.

"Hawke," Varric gave a concerned yell, swinging Bianca around to take aim. Salea lifted his legs and kicked the man in the chest with both feet, knocking the man holding him backward over a chair. As they fell, Salea still held against him, two arrows criss-crossed in the throat of the man stumbling from Hawke's kick.

"Ha _ha_ ," Varric triumphed. "Nice one, Seb, but my arrow struck first."

"Not on your life," Sebastian called from somewhere behind Salea.

Hawke smirked. Who else's fighting companions would take time to argue over kills in the middle of a battle? He struggled a bit against the superior strength of the man holding him. When it was obvious Salea could not move a muscle of his upper body, the rogue played dirty with a heel to the groin. Salea then sprang free from the loosened grip and stood over the man.

"I am sorry 'bout that," he grinned. "But I don't belong to you." He then kicked the man in the face and stabbed him in the throat when his head snapped to the side with the force of the blow. There was a quiet gurgle from the fallen enemy then nothing more.

Just as Salea straightened there was a furious roar from Anders. Hawke's head snapped to his friend only to see a dark, blood red ball of an unknown spell hurling straight for him. With no time to react the spell struck against the protective barrier. The force knocked the small rogue through the air to crash against the tavern's front wall by the door. The energy of the spell sizzled and sparked around him as the power faded taking what was left of Anders' protection with it. Somewhere Fenris roared. Justice's voice broke through the battle spouting his vengeful nonsense as Anders finally gave in to the spirit's control. Salea stayed slumped against the wall. His vision was unfocused and he felt light-headed. Bela called his name from his right, but other than a white blur he couldn't really make her out. She threatened to give him a spanking if he didn't get off his yummy ass.

Hawke decided that was threat enough. He used a reserve of strength to push up from the wall and shook his head. His vision slowly cleared. He saw that most of the soldiers Danarius brought were dead or dying. The mages however had Varric, Sebastian, Merrill, and Aveline pinned behind the bar. Isabela was quick and so was handling the dodging dance behind overturned tables and barstools well enough. Fenris and Anders were surrounded. Danarius cast a spell at the warrior elf and his lover screamed. A ball of red-white light and energy surrounded the elf engulfing him in its power. Salea could only watch as his lover's back arched, his head rolled back to face the ceiling; listened to him scream over and over as Fenris was held prisoner in the power of the blood magic spell.

_No!_

Salea's heart screamed with him when he shouted Fenris' name. He was helpless, and he knew it. For all his strength and skill, power and influence, Hawke was just as helpless again as he was when an ogre crushed his dear little brother, when the darkspawn taint poisoned his beautiful baby sister, when a sick necromantic lunatic desecrated and murdered his beloved mother. Now Danarius was going to rip Fenris away from him. Whether he killed him here or whisked him away to enslave and rule over him, a fate far worse than death as far as either of them were concerned, it made no difference. Danarius could not have him.

If Salea knew nothing else, he knew there was no life for him without Fenris. His babes needed their father who loved them more than life, he just didn't know it yet. Fenris needed to know. He deserved to know that love.

 _Please_ , Salea begged. _Maker. Andraste. Anyone, please. Don't let him have him._

No sooner had he finished his plea when a strong power built up within him. Afraid he'd been hit with a spell Salea looked around but the mages seemed to have forgotten him. They were so busy with his companions, and battling Justice who was on a rampage on one side of the room. The warm energy he felt did not hurt him and it did not diminish as spells tended to do after striking their target. It grew and grew. His body seemed to radiate the heat building inside him, unable to contain the power. He wondered if this was what it was like to be a mage. If so, he could not imagine ever having the self-control to restrain such power. All he wanted to do was get rid of it; release the pent up energy that threatened to consume him from within.

Salea looked at Fenris, witnessed his agony under Danarius' spell. His golden-brown eyes slid to the Tevinter mage. The elder magister was smiling, thoroughly enjoying Fenris' pain. Hawke's eyes hardened. He wanted to release this uncontainable power that threatened to engulf him. So, he reached his hands out toward the sneering mage torturing his beloved, and let go.

tbc


	4. Chapter 4

Danarius sneered watching his rebellious slave suffer. It was no less than the foolish elf deserved, and once he was done with him he would return with him to Minrathous. Perhaps he'd have another slave to keep him company as well. The magister turned his eyes across the room where the lovely Champion had just regained his feet. His sneering eyes widened. A large ball of pure, raw, uncontrolled energy was blasting straight for him. The Tevinter magister barely had time to release the elf from his spell and throw up a quickly, sloppily conjured protection before that energy struck him full in the chest.

The sheer power of that force knocked him back half-way up the stairs several feet behind him. He felt no pain other than when he struck the wooden stairs, but the energy itself was crippling in that his entire body tingled with deadness. He lay against the steps unable to move. His eyes found the rogue across from him. The Champion was surrounded by a white light emanating from within him. It contained a purity that surely could not belong to the man, though it certainly came from him and not any of his companions. The smaller human was certainly not a mage, but there was a power there that Danarius instantly craved. Lyrium and blood fused together. Not like what he'd accomplished with Fenris. Perfect. Perfect in a way that only nature could accomplish.

Danarius smiled.

A ritual, it seems, had been performed with the Champion of Kirkwall. One that Danarius doubted had been used since the early days of elf enslavement and then their eventual so-called "freedom".

Danarius stared, his maddening lust for the rogue and what he possessed were locked onto the small human's every move as he approached to aid Fenris against the remaining mages. _I must have him!_

The Tevinter magister shifted his leg as feeling returned to his body, and smirked. Once he stood again on his own two feet, one hand against the wall to brace against a small dizzy spell, his gaze locked with that of the Vengeful spirit raging war against his mages. Understanding seemed to dawn in the light of those unearthly eyes for the spirit bellowed and the walls shook with his rage.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Fenris was up and fighting again before the rogue reached him, but it was obvious the elf had been considerably weakened by the spell Danarius hit him with. Salea covered his back putting himself between Fenris and Danarius and made certain nothing could touch his lover.

" _You'll not have them_ ," Justice suddenly roared from behind Salea and he turned to look over his shoulder. Justice was barreling his way through mages and overturned tables toward Salea and Fenris. The Champion looked up in time to see Danarius call upon his darker power. Instantly dozens of Shade demons crawled up from the ground all around the tavern's main room.

Salea felt a shaking fear lance through his body. He and his companions had dealt with shades before, many times. But there were so many of them and he and Fenris were separated from the others who were out from behind the bar dancing through heated battle with the demons. It was nearly a sea of black over there. Salea could only hope they would be all right.

For now the only thing he could concentrate on was helping Fenris to get out of there. _Now!_

Salea ducked under the swing of a shade's clawed arm and slashed his blades across the demon's middle. If it were a man it would have been a fatal blow, intestines and life blood spilling out over grasping hands. But all that spilled from the demon's wound was a choking black mist, and the wound did not slow the thing down in the slightest. Behind him Fenris was fighting furiously, struggling against his weakened state and not giving up. Each of them fighting for the safety of the one at their back.

The shade demons swarmed on them. It was all Salea could do to keep from being cut open by razor-sharp claws. The image of one of those claws getting past his defense frightened him. Images of his belly sliced open, losing his babes before they ever had a chance were clouding his vision. He didn't understand the intensity of those images. He could see them in his mind as though he were watching it happen right in front of him. Beyond the dark-bodied demons Salea could see Danarius on the stairs. A risky glance told him the mage's eyes were locked on him and Fenris as if there were no one else in the room.

Salea felled a shade, then another, slicing through neck and shoulders, decapitating them into withering, crumpling dark masses. That was when he noticed that the remaining mages were gathering at the stairwell gathering power for perhaps a final spell. A spell that seemed to be aimed at Fenris, or himself. The rogue got the eerie feeling that all sets of eyes were on him, though.

Danarius began walking toward him.

A deep bellow from Justice roared behind him.

A grunt from Fenris near his ear when dark talons sliced into lyrium-tattooed flesh.

Power grew in the mages' hands.

Danarius wanted Fenris, and he was going to kill Salea to get him.

Salea turned away from the enemy, met the eyes of the raging spirit inhabiting his friend's body.

_Please_ , Salea silently pleaded with the spirit. _Don't let him have Fenris_.

Danarius was close now.

Justice/Anders flung demons aside from him as if concern for himself was the furthest thing from his mind.

Salea slay two more demons before time grew to a standstill. He saw blinding balls of colorful energy explode from the hands of the enemy mages. The shade demons continued to disappear and writhe up from the floor in different places trying to catch their prey off guard. Danarius stopped in front of Salea. The rogue stared at the ruthless blood mage anticipating what was coming next.

But he never could have guessed the man's true desire until the mage reached for him. _Him_. Not Fenris. Spells exploded all around him deafening him, blinding him. Pain seared up his spine.

_Save Fenris ___, he remembered screaming, but it was only a thought. His lungs were too busy screaming his physical pain to articulate anything else.

_\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

Justice/Anders roared a battle cry as he charged into the mass of shades surrounding the rogue and his elf lover. The spirit possessed an inhuman strength that bashed in the skulls of the shade demons and knocked them away like dolls with each mighty swing of his staff. Dangerous spells exploded around him knocking him about, shaking the walls and ceilings of the Hanged Man. All that mattered to the spirit at that moment were the _little ones_. The little ones had to be saved. They were innocent in all the madness of this world, and that very madness sought to destroy them, or use them. 

He reached for the rogue, his friend, the one the mage whose body he inhabited loved. He reached to pull him back to safety. All that mattered was their safety—Salea was his name, and the precious little ones. 

Then the desires of the little ones, equal to their bearer's love and devotion, begged not for protection for themselves, but for the elf. The magic-hating elf. Justice faltered under the immense love and need of the little ones for their father who did not even know they existed. He could only submit to that purest of desires. 

_Save Fenris_. 

When he reached through the throng of chaos surrounding the rogue and his elf lover, it was a tattooed arm he latched onto and pulled from danger as a blinding explosion knocked him back. It was the last person in the world he would have ever imagined that he protected from flying debris with his own body as the destructive spells brought the tavern's ceiling down on top of them. 


	5. Chapter 5

When Fenris woke it was to a dark, dirt-clouded room. He was disoriented at first before remembering he was in the Hanged Man still…just on a different side of it than he remembered being before the explosions. He felt a body shift behind him and a low groan identified them to be none other than the abomination. Fenris jerked away and jumped to his feet. Looking around the fallen beams and debris Fenris could see that a portion of the tavern's second floor had fallen into the main room, but not the entire building as he'd feared when it first began.

Other than a gash in his side from one of the shade demon's and lingering pain from Danarius' spell, Fenris felt reasonably whole and well. The mage was still on the ground behind him, but the elf could hear his breathing with his sensitive ears. Around him he accounted for the others as they climbed to their feet. Isabella gave a hand up to Sebastian and Varric while Aveline and Merrill poked around the rubble. No sign of Danarius or any of his remaining mages. He'd fled like the coward Fenris always knew him to be, and left behind his dead or dying warriors. But something didn't feel right. Danarius wanted him. He'd come specifically to take him back. Coward he may be, but he was also stubborn as hell and would unlikely leave without his prize.

So, they would simply have to be on their guard. He would survive this because now he had someone on his side. Someone who loved him.

He glanced around for the one face he wanted to see more than anything. The tavern was a bloody mess. Tables, chairs, stools, wooden beams were scattered everywhere. Fenris remembered Salea was standing directly at his back when the magical explosions hit them. He climbed over debris making his way quickly but carefully over to the base of the stairs where he and his lover had made their stand. There were small mountains of debris everywhere and Salea could be underneath them.

"Salea," he called out, finding his voice hoarse from screaming and breathing in the thick dirt in the air. He began tearing through shattered wood and dirt with his bear hands heedless of the many cuts he was gaining.

"Salea, please," he growled. "Where are you?"

"Fenris," the abomination began, getting to his feet.

" _Be quiet_ ," Fenris ordered. "Help me find him."

The others were gathering around him, but none of them moved to help him. A deep dread swelled in his chest.

"He's not here-" Anders said quietly.

"No," Fenris roared, his eyes and the lines of the lyrium tattoos flashed a bright blue. He moved on to another pile, digging desperately. "Help me find him."

Isabela glanced at Anders before daring the elf's wrath.

"Anders is right, love," she said, softly. "Danarius took him."

There was a roar of outrage so bestial it seemed impossible to have come from the elf. He charged the mage without warning, grabbed him by the throat and slammed him up against a wall. He knew. Somehow in the back of his mind he knew, when he woke up still here, that Salea was gone. But someone was to blame for it.

"You let Danarius take him," he yelled, ignoring the flinch of pain in the mage's face at the stinging accusation.

"I didn't _let_ Danarius take him," Anders said, softly.

" _You did_ ," Fenris roared. "You saved _me_. Why the fuck did you grab me and not him? You love him. Why did you let this happen? _It should have been me!_ "

"I didn't grab you and not him," Anders yelled back. "Justice did. Believe me when I say that if it had been up to me, Salea would be here and not you."

Fenris did believe him. If there was anything to be trusted about the mage it was the equal loathing they shared for each other.

"Then why me?" Fenris demanded, hoarsely. "Why would you or Justice save me?"

"Justice was asked to," Anders said, slowly, his eyes rimmed with angry, unshed tears. "And so he did."

Fenris watched him closely.

"There's something you're not telling me, mage," Fenris bit out.

Just then there was a sound from the corner of the room. Before Anders realized he could breathe easier the elf was already across the debris launching a table out of his way with his lyrium strength. A scream sounded and Anders saw the elf treating his so-called sister the same way he'd just enjoyed.

The elf spoke in a low tone rumbling with fury, but Anders heard every word. " _You_ ," Fenris began. "You led him here. You were going to let him take me back like a _dog_ on a leash."

"I had no choice, Leto," Varania begged. Fenris' hand around her throat tightened.

"Stop calling me that," he said, still in barely contained fury. "It is no longer my name."

"He was going to make me his apprentice," she said. "I would have been a magister."

"You sold out your own brother to become a magister?"

Varania shook her head at him. "You have no idea what we went through, or what I've had to do since mother died. This was my only chance at something better. You said you didn't ask for your markings, but that's not true."

Confusion flashed across Fenris' eyes. His iron grip loosened. Varania continued softly.

"You competed for them. When you won you used the boon to have mother and I freed-"

"Why are you telling me this?" Fenris rasped, hurt and self-betrayal roiling in his heart with this new information.

"Freedom was no boon," Varania said, her voice hardening. "I look at you now and I think you received the better end of the bargain."

They stared at each other with a matching gaze for a long time, each struggling with their own turmoil.

Varania's demeanor softened finally, looking into the hurt and lost eyes of the brother she'd loved dearly long ago.

"You thought you were doing right by us," she said, with a nod. "A slave born in slavery has no idea of life outside that existence, you didn't know." Fenris let out a breath as if he'd been struck in the gut. He didn't feel like he deserved forgiveness, but this was as close to it as his sister was going to give him. He was surprised she'd give him even that much. Simply knowing that neither had understood or realized the ramifications of their actions was a small comfort at least.

"If," Fenris struggled to find the right words. Fighting the pain and the torrent of emotion brought on by his sister's appearance and revelations still paled in comparison to one thing. "If you understood that I was young and that I didn't know I was sentencing you and mother to a much harder and miserable life," he swallowed, "why did you give me up to Danarius?"

A single tear slid down Varania's cheek when she answered, "After so long… you were just a boy I once knew. It was easier that way."

Fenris nodded. He released her and backed away.

"Danarius arrived on a ship called the _Arendün_ ," Varania offered. "It was docked in the harbor still when I passed this morning."

Fenris looked his sister in the eye one last time and saw no reason for her to lie to him now. Grateful for the knowledge Fenris hurried out of the Hanged Man heading straight for the docks. Behind him he could hear the others following. It brought him a little comfort that he would not have to search for Salea alone.

_Salea._

Why did Danarius take him? What did he want with the rogue? Salea was beautiful, absolutely. But Danarius was never after beauty alone. What the blood mage wanted was the lyrium in Fenris' veins, the power it gave him when he controlled Fenris. What, then, did he need with Salea? The rogue was the Champion of Kirkwall. The title would have delighted Fenris' old master in that he would thoroughly enjoy tormenting and humiliating one with such stature. But it wasn't enough to overpower Danarius' desire to have Fenris back under his control. Perhaps he simply took Salea to hurt Fenris. Or perhaps because he knew Fenris would follow them to the ends of the world to get the rogue back.

That had to be it. A bargaining chip. Danarius wanted to rub it in every moment of Fenris' tormented existence that Fenris had come to him willingly once more to save someone he cared for.

Fenris growled under his breath and charged headlong for the docks.

"Hey, elf," Varric yelled from behind him. "I'm a dwarf. Dwarfs don't run as fast as you people." A pause. Fenris didn't slow down, and from the sound of the footsteps behind him, neither did any of the others. Varric cursed. "I'll remember this the next time you all need Bianca to save your asses."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just for fun I created an image of Salea Hawke on my LiveJournal page. Feel free to pop over there and vote in the Hot or Not poll. If you don't have a LJ account you can still vote by way of leaving a comment. Check him out: http://fallindeath.livejournal.com/45684.html

Hopeless.

It had been hopeless from the beginning, and he knew it. The probability of catching Danarius before he could leave the city's shores- he knew it was impossible. Fenris did not know how long he and the others were unconscious from the magical blasts in the Hanged Man, giving the blood mages plenty of critical time to escape with their captive. Danarius' ship, the _Arendün_ , would have been fully prepped and ready to set sail at a moment's notice. The devious mage had also hired dozens of groups of mercenaries and desperate souls alike to fight and hold off any pursuers along the route to the city docks. Donnic and the guardsmen who were with him covering the rear entrances to the tavern had put up resistance when the blood mages emerged, but were thwarted by powerful spells. Still his group fought hard through the groups they encountered to reach the docks as quickly as possible. One of the guards had seen Salea's pale face and recognized their city's Champion. He gave a cry, "The Champion. They've taken the Champion of Kirkwall!" The guards rallied and threw themselves into battle then, fighting to reclaim the man who'd saved their city and its people.

As remarkable as it was that there were some people so devoted and loyal to his Hawke, Fenris couldn't see that any of it mattered. He stood at the edge of the dock where the _Arendün_ had made berth, gazing into the orange and gold of the setting sun across the gently lapping waters. No dark silhouettes on the waters but for a few very small fisherman's boats.

They were gone.

Salea was…

"Gone," Fenris whispered.

He swallowed hard against the pain welling tight and aching in his chest. He felt his very heart hurting. He didn't know the muscle could hurt like that when there was nothing physically wrong. He'd heard people say such things, but he'd always thought them sentimental fools. After he received his markings and forgot his past he'd never known love again until Salea.

It was cruelly unfair how unprepared he was to deal with a wounded heart.

"Fenris?" Merrill said, timidly.

"Not now, kitten," Isabela softly admonished from behind him.

"Um," the Dalish elf bravely ventured on. "We could go after them. Bring Hawke back."

Fenris blinked and swallowed thickly. Too hurt to be angry with the elf he couldn't stand for reasons he couldn't at the moment remember, he said, "How?" His voice was like gravel.

Buying, stocking, preparing, and manning a sea-worthy ship required astronomical funding and time. Even bartering passage onto a trade ship would take time and almost as much funding depending on how shrewd and greedy the ship's captain was. There was no doubt in Fenris' mind that he was going after Salea, but in all honesty he did not know how to go about doing such a thing. He was a runaway slave. The ways of the world were still fairly new and foreign to the elf, from taxes to licenses to how the world ran in _official_ circles. It was complex beyond his willingness to understand. He'd never needed to bother with such things before; he'd simply done whatever it took. If he had to hide away on a ship again he would do it in a heartbeat, but with Salea's life, not just his own, depending on the success of his planning, his desperate ways seemed so very injudicious. For the first time since he could remember, he felt hatefully insufficient and utterly helpless to save the one person that mattered.

Merrill looked at Isabela. The Rivaini sighed dramatically and stepped up next to Fenris.

"Well, it seems the cat's out of the bag, love," she said, with a smirk. Fenris turned distant eyes on her. "You're going to go get that delicious rogue of yours, Fenris."

The white-haired elf nodded. "Of course I am." He looked behind him to the others standing back on the shore. None of them had followed him onto the empty dock. "I don't know how to go about doing it, but I will do whatever I have to." Fenris felt a flush of humiliation. He was glad the mage wasn't within earshot but even admitting his ineptitude to Isabela and Merrill was bad enough.

"You're in luck," Isabela piped up, all charm and smiles. "It just so happens that Salea helped me regain my own ship while you were gone seeing about your sister."

Fenris' eyes widened. "You have a ship?" he demanded.

"Yes, love," she winked at him.

"How soon can you be ready?" he growled, regaining some life now that he knew he had a way to reach his Salea. Then a look of uncertainty crossed his features, a weakness he hated to show, but what right did _he_ have to expect Isabela to offer up her ship and services. He was not their leader. He had not earned their loyalty and friendship as Salea had. Ever observant Isabela understood the look perfectly.

"Oh, pup," she said, with as much sympathy as she could muster. "You aren't doing this alone. For now my ship's purpose is the same as yours. You don't really think any of us can turn our backs on what Hawke has done for us, do you?"

Fenris looked down for a moment, relieved. Then he looked her in the eye and nodded once his gratitude. Isabela's smile flourished.

"How long till we can leave?" he asked again.

"Most of my surviving crew are still here in Kirkwall and have already made their way back to my ship." She laughed. "Word travels very fast here. She's stocked and ready. I only need to hire on a few more hands to replace those lost when my last ship went down."

"Oh," Merrill piped up. "Were you planning on leaving, then?"

"Of course I am, kitten" Isabela said with a roguish wink at the elf. "But not until our fearless leader no longer has need of me. I never break my word." The pirate smirked. "Well, _almost_ never."

"How long?" Fenris growled, growing impatient.

"Give me three days, pup, and I'll have _The Siren's Call II_ ready for boarding," she promised.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Salea woke slowly, blinking his heavy eyelids several times only to find he was somewhere so dark he at first couldn't tell if his eyes were open or not. He ached everywhere. His head was especially cruel, each pounding throb threatening to split his skull. He tried to reach up to hold his head only to find his hands were bound behind his back. He frowned in confusion. Where was he? He thought back, struggling with nausea when his head disagreed with his attempts at concentration, and remembered Fenris and the Hanged Man. Danarius and his blood mages. He felt the rocking of a ship in the floorboards beneath him and swallowed back the feeling of suffocation that enveloped him. After crossing the waters to Kirkwall on that long voyage he'd never wanted to set foot on another ship again.

Danarius' cruel smirk flashed across his memory. Instinctively he reached to rub a soothing circle over his belly to reassure himself of his babes and their safety. He growled in frustration, fighting back angry, weak tears when he couldn't perform that simple task. He yanked against the rough bindings that cut into his wrists before settling again.

He didn't realize until that moment how much he'd grown to depend on that simple action to calm his nerves and reassure him that his babes were there growing safely inside him. Perhaps it was foolish, but it seemed to him that he could feel them when he rested his palm over his flesh; feel their energy. That's all he wanted to do. Make sure his children were all right. But he couldn't.

"Fenris," he whispered into the darkness, and didn't know if he was relieved or afraid that his lover was not there to answer.


	7. Chapter 7

_The Fade was such a strange place. This was the first time Salea ever entered the spirit dream world intentionally, consciously aware of his surroundings and what he was doing there. They were there to save Feynriel. The young half-blood was in danger. That's all Hawke really needed to know. He didn't really understand what a Somniari, or dreamer was exactly, only that it was a dire threat if the youth could not control his power._

_Salea and what remained of his party were moving from room to room searching for the boy and for any other enemy entities that were attempting to tempt Feynriel. He'd already lost Aveline to Caress, the desire demon. His friend had been faced with something Salea considered to be an unfair, low-blow temptation. The pain of her husband's death at her hands still lingered over the outwardly strong guardswoman. The sick ideas the demon slipped into Aveline's mind promised Wesley's return. Salea did not blame his friend when she turned on him and the others. What would he have done in her stead? If he thought someone could return to him his father, or dear Carver?_

_He only hurt for her, seeing just how much Aveline ached and longed for her dead lover._

_They finally reached a large room with spectral visions of people who were not really there. Feynriel was there. His desire to be accepted by the Dalish for who and what he was must have been strong. The sloth demon posing as Keeper Marethari had the youth wrapped deeply in the illusion. But Feynriel was a smart boy. He understood what was happening and ran away. The demon was enraged. This time, when Wryme wove his spells of temptation and pride it was Fenris whom he targeted._

_"The boy only wants his freedom, not your power," Salea argued._

_"Those who are free to choose always want power," Wryme said in his deep, growling voice. The enormous demon jerked his head in the direction of the two standing behind the rogue. "Do you think your friends are different? You think this slave would choose you over his freedom?"_

_Salea was relieved and grateful when the elf stepped forward to defend himself._

_"Cast your eyes elsewhere, demon," Fenris growled defiantly. "I won my freedom from the magisters long ago."_

_Wryme's clouded, empty eyes scrutinized the warrior. "But you fear them still," he said. "They have left their marks on your body and your mind. With my aid you could be free forever. You could have power enough to challenge any who would chain you."_

_Salea felt a change in Fenris. He couldn't explain it, but he could almost feel the uncertainty coming from his dear friend in waves. The rogue turned to him, quickly._

_"If you accept you are no better than the magistrates," he said. Salea knew the power of these demons' temptations was strong, overwhelming. He understood why Aveline turned on him. However, he did not want to see Fenris do the same. Somehow, he knew that betrayal would hurt more._

_Fenris looked at Hawke for a long time. Emotions warred across his elfin features. The most painful to witness was the lost look in the warrior's eyes. So alone, so hurt, so uncertain of anything and anyone. He looked at Salea now as if he were a stranger; as if the friendship and love Hawke had offered to him must have been a lie to trap the elf yet again. It was only for a moment before recognition struggled back into place, but that look hurt the most._

_"But," Fenris said hesitantly. "To face them as an equal… I…"_

_Salea begged him. Not in words, but his eyes pleaded with the elf not to doubt Salea's friendship, not to doubt the love he'd offered. Begged him not to give in at the first test of that friendship._

_Salea's heart ached when Fenris turned to the demon._

_"What would you want from me?" he said._

_The sloth demon smiled showing his long, pointed teeth. "A moment of your time. Nothing more."_

_Salea did not even have time, perhaps not the strength to deflect the first blow from the warrior elf's sword that knocked him across the room. The wound was bloody and deep, but would not mark his body in the waking world. The ache from it though, would haunt him for the rest of his life._

Salea woke with a gasp. The hurt from the memory was vivid and strong. As strong as when it'd first happened years ago. He didn't know how many days had passed since he woke in the dark room onboard the ship that first time, but he'd been dreaming the same thing every time he slept since. It was beginning to wear on him. He hated that memory.

There was nothing to occupy his time. His bonds were mercilessly tight. There was no point in rubbing his wrists raw trying to slip out of them. It was needless pain he wanted to avoid. Dislocating his thumbs wouldn't work either. He needed at least a little give in the ropes to attempt something like that and there was none. The only person he ever saw was a young, very skittish elf slave who brought him food and water. Salea was never released from his bonds. She helped him to eat and attend to his body's needs, but other than that she would not touch him or speak to him. She'd been perfectly terrified the first time Salea attempted conversation, as if she expected brutal punishment even though Hawke was the one who spoke. With a master like Danarius Salea wouldn't be surprised if the girl could be punished for being spoken to by a prisoner even though she couldn't possibly have control over such a thing. So, Salea gave up speaking. He didn't want her hurt because of him.

All he could do with all his "free time" was think, and unfortunately because of the relentless dreams, his mind was constantly haunted by that memory of betrayal.

He and Fenris were not together yet when they'd entered the Fade, but their friendship had been steadily growing stronger. Salea had made his desires known and Fenris had been adorably shy in his response but openly willing to let their relationship play out in that direction. He needed time, and Hawke knew the elf was worth the wait. Still, to feel that betrayal…

Fenris came to Salea afterward asking forgiveness. It was clear he was astonished and ashamed that his fears were so easily manipulated and used against him.

"I failed you," he said. "I won't let that happen again." He was so determined, he spoke with such conviction. Salea believed him. Forgave him because he loved him.

Salea offered comfort that the demon had strong magic that he used to control and influence Fenris' mind. But Fenris said something that Salea tried to ignore.

_And yet he didn't manage to influence you._

True, the demons' words never influenced Hawke. Never once made him doubt why he was there or what he was doing. Temptation never arose. Was that because he was stronger? Or because he was never directly tempted under the demons' spells? He didn't like thinking about it. He didn't want to know that Fenris had failed to resist where Salea had succeeded. If Fenris were so easily persuaded, would Salea's love ever be enough to keep the elf by his side? That fear was only intensified when Fenris walked away from him after that first night together. Salea had given everything of himself freely. He'd moved and writhed and breathed beneath Fenris' strong body, submitting his heart along with his body to the one he knew he loved. But the elf turned his back on him again.

There was nothing in the world he wanted to see more than Fenris' face. But every time he closed his eyes all he saw was his lover's back walking away from him.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Danarius sat in his spacious cabin on the _Arendün_ enjoying the end of a large meal with a glass of Agreggio Pavali. The so-called Champion was awake again. The magister smiled, wondering if his dreams were pleasant. In a few more days, perhaps he would pay the man a visit and find out.


	8. Chapter 8

Danarius bided his time patiently. There was no rush. Such subtleties needed time to sink in and take hold. He knew his captive slept fitfully whenever his exhaustion gave in and sleep took him. The cycle would seem endless to the Champion with no way to know the time or the passing of each long day. The blood mage sent Lillan with the Champion's meals irregularly, sometimes skipping a day entirely to ensure there was no way to determine the passing time that way. He wanted the clever rogue to be uncertain of everything; keep him off balance.

He unlocked the heavy door deep in the bowel of the ship. With a simple thought he lit a ball of light from the palm of his hand and sent it into the room ahead of him. Once he knew the room was fully lit and his captive blinded by the sudden light, Danarius opened the door and stepped inside.

The Champion was sitting up in a corner, his head turned away from the burning light. He had been stripped of his armor and weapons the moment he was brought aboard. The only clothing he had was the undershirt he'd worn between his skin and the padded leather armor, and his breeches. They were dirty with the filth of the battle and his current prison. Weeks now, without washing made the room stink. Lillan was instructed to sponge bathe the man to keep sickness away, but it certainly wasn't thorough and not very often. There were dark rings under the man's eyes. He looked miserable. Danarius smirked.

"Champion," he said.

Hawke blinked his watering eyes against the blinding magical light. But he knew that voice. He would never forget the voice belonging to the man who's very presence had made Fenris shiver in fear. Despite that, Fenris had stood up to him. Salea would do the same.

"Danarius," Hawke said.

"Are the arrangements to your liking?" the mage sneered.

Salea's eyes remained squeezed closed against the hurtful light, but he could hear the disdained mockery in the mage's voice.

"Quite," Salea said, a small smile curving one side of his mouth. "Although the view leaves much to be desired."

Danarius chuckled.

"What do you want with me, Danarius?" Salea shifted to face the blood mage squarely.

"I think you know very well what I want," the mage said.

Salea carefully opened his eyes and stared up into the man's aged face. His expression was obscured in shadow by the light behind him and impossible to discern.

"No," Salea said. "I'm sure I can't riddle it out. You had Fenris where you wanted him, so it isn't a matter of grabbing and holding me in hopes he will come to you, is it? You can't possibly desire my family's estate, or have need of the name I've made for myself. I can't see the Champion of Kirkwall makes much of a difference in Tevinter."

"I imagine you think yourself clever, don't you, boy?"

"I imagine I do," Salea quipped. "Must be frustrating for you."

Danarius' smile darkened. Hawke swallowed forcing himself not to squirm under that gaze.

"Tell me, serah Hawke," Danarius carried on conversationally. "Does Fenris know about them?"

Salea's gut wrenched. "Wh-what are you talking about?"

Suddenly the blood mage was crouched in front of him, looming over him not only in size, but in dominance. One weathered hand gripped over his belly. Danarius raised his eyes and stared him in the eye.

"Why, these little ones, of course," he continued in that maddening tone.

" _Don't touch me_ ," Salea warned.

"Or what?" the mage mocked. "You are not going to stop me. Your so-called lover most certainly will not."

Salea glared at the man. The grip of those hated fingers turned to a gentler rubbing over where his babes were growing. The magic-born womb didn't feel so safe a place anymore with those powerful fingers stroking so close.

"Do you think he will come for you?" Danarius continued, delighted with the defiance in his captive's eyes. He was a spirited one, just like his little wolf. But backbone could be broken and was all the more delicious when it did. "Do you think a mere slave has the courage to face one of the more powerful magisters in Tevinter?" He studied the Champion carefully. "Do you think he will not betray you _again_? He's done it before. After the first time it only becomes easier."

Salea frowned.

"Oh, yes, I know what he's done," Danarius continued. "Fenris betrays everyone, even himself."

Images flashed through Salea's mind. Memories of Fenris turning his back callously on his sister and mother, of Fenris' betrayal in the Fade. A reel of Fenris' voice speaking angry, hateful words about every move Salea made; every decision when he did not agree. The images and words flashed so quickly, overlapping one another and creating chaos in his aching head. An image of Fenris promising mercy to Hadrianna in exchange for information. Then crushing her heart in his fist the moment she revealed Fenris had a sister. Broken promises, bloody killings, angry words, eyes full of distrust and hate.

" _Stop_ ," Salea growled, eyes squeezed closed, jaw clenched against the pain of the images.

The chaos centered around a forest glade. A humble camp. Blood splashed over the grass with every swing of Fenris' mighty blade. Armed men who hardly lifted a hand against the death being dealt them. The look in Fenris' eyes when he was finished was horrified yet that hadn't stopped him from killing every last one of them. Blood dripped from his blade, drenched his clothing, ran in rivulets down his face. Turned his beautiful white hair crimson.

"They befriended him," Danarius spoke up over the mental onslaught. "They accepted him, offered him their trust, and yet he killed every. single. one."

The Fog warriors Fenris told him about.

Tears slipped down his face. "Stop this," Salea begged. The voices ceased and the images faded, but their imprint in his memory was permanent now.

"He is a coward," the blood mage said. "He runs from what he cannot handle. Now, I will ask you again, does he know about these little ones?"

Salea refused to give him anything.

"No," Danarius smiled. "I think he does not. You fear he will abandon you if you tell him. And why wouldn't he? Men with far fewer demons abandon their lovers when a child enters the picture." Salea dropped his gaze. He couldn't bear to look at the man anymore. "Fenris doesn't want them, but I will let you keep them if you submit to me."

The rogue's head whipped up. Rage flashed golden in Hawke's eyes. The bastard wanted his children.

"Get the _fuck_ away from me. You will never have my children. I don't care what you do to me."

There was a flash of light around Danarius' fingertips resting over his stomach and Salea cried out in pain. He could feel their fear over his own pain-felt them growing weaker. They were dying.

"Please," Salea whimpered, slumping against the mage. The pain, however didn't stop. He was losing them.

"Please _what_?" Danarius demanded. He gripped the rogue by the back of his neck with his other hand. Clenching his fist in the dark hair at the base of the rogue's skull, he not so gently encouraged Hawke to lift his head.

"Please, master," Salea whispered. Tears dripped from his chin. "Please don't hurt them."

The pain in his belly ended abruptly leaving him panting for breath. The hand over his belly moved to stroke his cheek. Salea wanted nothing more than to chop it off. He couldn't stand being touched by the blood mage, but he was too weak to pull away from him.

"I think we are going to get along well, serah Hawke."

Danarius grinned and Salea did not see a man, but the evilest of demons.


	9. Chapter 9

Salea did not know how long these short meetings with Danarius went on for. There was no sense of the passage of time in the dark room. But Danarius would visit him once in a while to degrade Fenris, show Salea the horrors of the things the elf slave did while under the blood mage's command. Danarius allowed him only to see the ugliest sides of his lover. None of the elf's beauty or kindness. None of his goodness and morality, or his secret longing to be loved. Salea never got to see Fenris' smile anymore. Even when the mage wasn't with him, his magic spelled Hawke's dreams and his mind. Now any time Salea longed for his lover, or thought of him, his sweet memories of Fenris transformed into the bloody, hate-filled slave that Danarius enjoyed torturing him with.

His mind was the only sanctuary he had left to him and Danarius had invaded it. Poisoned it. It was obvious to Salea what the blood mage was trying to do. He was cutting him off from his life in Kirkwall. Breaking down the memories that Salea cherished and knew to be real, and then filling them with images and feelings of the mage's own design. He was trying to make Salea forget. Trying to isolate him by tainting the memories of love and friendship with those closest to him. He was trying to break him. Make him a submissive and obedient tool for the mage to implement, just as he'd done with Fenris.

A man with nothing left to fight for was easy to break.

Salea fought the influence with everything he had. He was a strong man. Not just physically, but strong of will, and of mind. But if he were honest with himself he knew even he could not resist the blood mage forever. He could feel it already. The doubts. For now he could still tell the difference between what he knew in his heart and Danarius' lies.

But for how long?

After a prolonged period of time he understood how someone could very easily succumb-lose themselves. Forget.

_Fenris_. The thought of forgetting Fenris, _his_ Fenris, was unbearable.

He had to escape and soon.

He rubbed his sore wrists. Danarius finally cut the bonds, believing his prisoner was too weak and sorrowful to try anything. That wasn't far from the truth. Weeks or more without exercise, constant attacks on his mind and precious little untroubled sleep left him exhausted and weak as a child.

One good thing Danarius would not take away was right there with the Champion. Danarius thought they were his bargaining chip for Hawke's obedience, but they were so much more. Salea rubbed a hand over the small mound of flesh grateful that he could finally do so again. He felt life in there, warm and full of energy. These babes were the very reason Danarius would not succeed. He wanted them, wanted their power and so the blood mage would not truly harm them. They would be Hawke's anchor, he knew that more and more. As long as he had them to protect he would always have something to continue fighting for. Danarius could try to erase everything good from his life in Kirkwall, but these babes he cherished, given to him by the one he loved most in the world, would protect that shred of truth. He clung to that solidarity like a drowning man. They were his lighted candle in all this darkness. His last sanctuary.

Fenris and his friends were coming for him. He knew they were. He just had to remember and never give in to Danarius' despair.

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Six weeks. Nearing on six weeks they'd been at sea, and Fenris was losing patience and hope. He didn't remember his first journey from Tevinter taking so long, but then he was a runaway slave stowed away in the bowels of a large trade ship and time had meant very little to him. Now, every hour, every minute, every second that Salea was not safe in his arms was agony. Thoughts of what Danarius could do, was probably doing to his lover was driving him mad. He knew what the blood mage was capable of. None of it was ever good for anyone else.

Isabela was true to her word. Three days later she was ready to sail after the _Arendün_. Fenris thought that those three days were bad. That once he was actually on his way to help Hawke that it would be better because he was doing something. But he found that it was no comfort at all. He knew from the beginning he should find something to occupy his time, but unlike the others he couldn't concentrate on much of anything. Isabela was kept busy because she had a ship to run and men to order around, which she was very good at. Sebastian and the others took to other manual labors such as cleaning and cooking to earn their keep, so to speak, and keep busy. Fenris had thrown himself into the labor for the first two weeks. He hardly ate, barely slept and worked his fingers to the bone each day under the hot, unforgiving sun until he'd nearly collapsed. It was Sebastian who finally talked him out of his madness. He doubted he would have listened to anyone else. The Starkhaven prince convinced Fenris he would be no good to Hawke if he worked himself to death before ever reaching Tevinter; that he would need to be at his best.

It was difficult. But his companions all seemed to work together to see to it that Fenris only worked one shift a day, ate at mealtime, and they confined him to his bunk each night so that, even if he didn't sleep, he was at least resting. Right now they were in Isabela's Captain's quarters playing Wicked Grace. Probably getting drunk, too. Fenris felt a rush of anger at the thought. How could they carry on like that when Salea was suffering? Deep down he knew it was probably healthier than what Fenris had been doing. Perhaps Fenris was simply angry that they _could_ carry on with every day things and keep their minds off a terrible situation they could do nothing about yet.

Fenris sighed heavily. Hawke once told him that the first time he'd ever been on a ship was when he and his family sailed to Kirkwall to escape the Blight, and he'd spent the entire journey crammed in a hull with dozens of other refugees. The times Fenris spent aboard ships during his slave days he'd always been stuffed somewhere below deck and never allowed to venture beyond his allotted place unless Danarius ordered it.

The salty breeze against his face felt good, the setting sun to the west was beautiful. Shades of orange and pink, and glorious gold branched from the sun, surrounded by pale blue sky. What few clouds there were glowed brilliantly in the last light of day's end. It was a humbling thing, looking out over the silvery waters and seeing nothing but water and sky. He wished he could share it with Salea. The rogue made things like this feel incredible. Before, Fenris never would have noticed the beauty of the world and all its majesty. He'd known only its ugliness and cruelty. Then he met Hawke. A man who, even whilst mourning the loss of his beloved family, his home in Ferelden, and countless other troubles and heartaches, never failed to stop every once in a while and admire their surroundings. Even in the Bone Pit Salea had stopped their trek to point out the beauty of a scraggly rose bush struggling for survival on the side of the unforgiving mountain path.

Fenris gripped the wooden railing in front of him until the joints in his fingers ached.

Nothing was beautiful before Salea.

And nothing would be again without him.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter mentions Rowan Tabris who is my favorite Grey Warden; the subject of my _Origins_ fanfics.

It was hours after nightfall before Fenris joined the others in Isabela's quarters. They were all seated around a large map table that was bolted to the floor in the center of the room in the middle of a game. As Fenris knew they would be, they were drinking and the game was Wicked Grace. Anders was in the middle of a story from his time in Amaranthine with the Hero of Ferelden. They were laughing and enjoying themselves—something Fenris couldn't seem to make himself do. Eyes glanced up at him when he entered, but then returned to the game and the mage when the warrior elf went straight for the liquor cupboard.

"—There was this dwarf named Oghren," Anders was saying. "You have probably heard of him."

"Oh, yes, I met him when that _delicious_ Grey Warden crossed my path in Denerim," Isabela piped in with a smirk. "A right drunken, smelly bastard, that one if you ask me."

Anders laughed. "Yes, he was that," he said. "But surprisingly loyal. To Rowan anyway, and an excellent warrior when he wasn't drunk off his ass. Which was most of the time. Nathaniel and I amused ourselves on more than one occasion with his drinking. There was one time I told him about the schleets."

"Ah," Isabela chuckled. "Those wicked, wicked schleets. I remember those. Caused me trouble more than once." She winked at Merrill.

The Dalish elf blinked with incomprehension. "What is a schleet?"

"They're common in Ferelden," Anders said with an air of amusement. "They look like ordinary pairs of pants crumpled on the floor."

"Pants?" Merrill looked at the mage confused.

"Pants that eat your eyeballs," Anders said, matter-of-factly.

"They look innocent enough," Isabela added, milking the myth. "Until you let your guard down. That's when they strike."

"Oh," Merrill gasped, wide-eyed.

"Good grief," Varric chuckled, looking at his cards. "And I thought I could spin a tale."

"Sounds a lot like the Starkhaven snipes," Sebastian said, a curl in his lips as he played his hand.

"There aren't really such things are there?" Merrill asked, looking under the table at her own trousers with a touch of concern.

"No kitten," Isabela laughed.

"After all me and Nathaniel put him through I knew Oghren would never believe me about the schleets. So I had one of the Keep's soldiers tell him." The mage laughed. "It was a week before Oghren would willingly wear his own trousers again. Rowan had a hell of a time convincing him there was no such thing."

Donnic looked up from his cards with a hearty chuckle. Aveline, no matter how much she wanted to join in the search and fight for Hawke, could not abandon her station as the Captain of the City Guard, and so her husband took her place.

"If I remember the tales of Oghren at the Vigil," Donnic began with a smirk. "The dwarf often forgot to wear his trousers. Although that seemed more a result of drunkenness than fear of schleets."

"True enough," Anders lifted his cup to the guard.

"Is this all you have to talk about?" Fenris demanded from the room's small bar. The group around the table either looked over at him or found their cards suddenly _very_ interesting. "Drunken dwarfs and childhood pranks? We should be discussing what we are going to do once we reach Tevinter. How we're going to rescue Hawke."

Varric cleared his throat. "You know we haven't forgotten why we are here, broody." The dwarf spoke with a soft assurance. "A little drink and gaming keeps the insanity at bay." Varric offered a smile in an attempt to head off the anger and argument that was inevitably about to explode.

"We will be in Minrathous within a few days," Fenris growled slamming down the bottle of alcohol without drinking from it. "This isn't a stroll through Kirkwall. We need a plan." He turned to face the group. "And all of you seem content to wait around for someone to tell you what to do. Salea isn't here to do that. This time _we_ have to make the decisions."

"Fenris," Sebastian hesitated. "We, uh, we…"

"What he's trying to say, love, is that we've already discussed our plans," Isabela said, loudly. Her smile flashed at the elf. The others glanced at each other, then turned back to the elf. They'd been avoiding this. Not intentionally, but they all knew the necessary course of action would be a sore spot with the elf. More like sticking a dagger between the ribs and twisting for good measure.

The cabin was silent for a long time. Fenris glared at each member of Hawke's party. The room nearly hummed with the silently building tension. They had all been at the receiving end of the warrior's anger before. Never a pleasant experience, that, but it was survivable. The difficult thing was the waiting for the explosion. That, and Fenris tended to be rather unpredictable when he was angry enough that his lyrium markings began to glow—as they were now.

"You have discussed plans without me," Fenris' voice rumbled quietly. Varric couldn't help but feel the quiet rumble was many times more fearsome than the loud explosion.

"We felt it best to wait to tell you since we knew you would not like—"

"Donnic," Fenris turned his piercing gaze to the guard. "For now I respect you, so I advise you to keep your mouth shut."

Donnic clenched his jaw but nodded. Fenris looked over the group.

"You think I do not know what will be required of me?" Fenris' voice rose. "As far back as my memory goes I've survived and slaved in Minrathous. I know what I am within those walls." Olive green eyes turned their anger to Anders. The mage was silently staring at the tabletop. "You think I would not do whatever it takes— _whatever it takes_ to free Salea from Danarius?" Fenris' roar echoed in the room.

When no one spoke Fenris stormed from the cabin. The door's slam snapped the group out of their silence.

"Oh, dear," Merrill said softly, looking miserable.

"That went well," Varric drawled.

"I told you we should have been straightforward with him," Sebastian said, his accent grown thicker with his frustration. "Fenris is not one who appreciates subtleties. We should have known he could handle what has to be done. He deserves that respect."

"We weren't being disrespectful just cautious," Isabela countered with a shrug before gulping the rest of her drink. "And, be honest, no one here wanted to be the one to tell him that Anders would be—"

Anders stood up and left the room. Closing the door with a gentle click behind him he left the others to their game and discussions. Moving through the narrow hall he found the stairs and descended to the lower levels where Fenris had his own small room. After the first few days everyone aboard learned that trying to bunk with the angry, glowing warrior elf was impossible, and poor to one's health.

He knocked out of courtesy, but when he received an angered _go away_ , he ignored it and entered. Fenris stood on the far side of the room but he was across it so quickly Anders almost didn't see the elf move before he was slammed back against the door.

"What do you want, _mage_ ," Fenris growled, pressing his blue-glowing forearm against Anders' throat.

Anders' brow was pinched, his mouth set in a frown. His eyes, Fenris could not tell if they held pain or uncertainty. Possibly both, not that he cared.

"Fenris," the mage said. "There's something I need to tell you." Fenris frowned at him, a bit wary. Anders looked him in the eye. "Something you should know."


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders has something to say.

"Why would I want to listen to anything you have to say, mage?" Fenris sneered. "I already know I'm going to have to play your slave in Minrathous. Did you come to gloat?"

Anders took a deep breath to keep from screaming back at the stupid elf. One of them had to be collected for this discussion, and it had to be him. So, ignoring the hatred and accusation in Fenris' eyes, Anders said, "It's about Salea."

That took Fenris by surprise. Of all the hundreds of things he expected from the abomination right then it certainly wasn't his lover's name. Normally it infuriated him to hear the mage call his lover by his first name. Everyone else called him Hawke or Champion. It felt too intimate calling Hawke by his given name—like it was something only family should be allowed to use, and Fenris couldn't help but feel he was the only one left in the world with the right to call him Salea.

But this time, the tone in the mage's voice helped him to overlook the offense. It was worried, anxious, determined. It caused Fenris no small amount of hesitation and confusion. Both were feelings he despised. They were unfamiliar to him and damned uncomfortable. He did not like having no control over a situation, and it was beginning to feel like an eternity since he'd last had any control over anything.

Fenris loosened his hold on the mage marginally. Slitting his gaze, he demanded, "What about Salea?" Then he remembered. "This is about your lie that day at your clinic."

A muscle in Anders' cheek twitched when he clenched his jaw. He should have known the ever-distrusting elf would see through the infection excuse. But it seemed Fenris had no idea what the lie was really covering up. This wasn't going to be pleasant. He knew that. Salea was supposed to be the one to break it to the elf, not him. But then, none of this was supposed to happen.

Now, nothing was certain. There was no guarantee that Hawke was still alive or would be when they found him. Salea may never get the chance to tell Fenris the miracle he was prepared to suffer for the elf. There was a very large part of Anders that could not bear the thought. The thought of Fenris not knowing the pain Salea had gone through to give his lover something so precious—it would feel so wasted, so wrong. Fenris had to know. He had to know because despite the fact that Anders felt the warrior elf did not deserve the rogue, Anders also knew that Salea had chosen Fenris. And so, Fenris _had_ to be someone who deserved Salea—who would reciprocate that love and trust. Fenris couldn't be that person if he did not understand what Salea was willing to do for him.

There was a small part of Anders who expected…hoped the elf would recoil. It was a very small part of him that Anders hated. Not because he had any care for the elf's feelings, but Salea's happiness meant a great deal to him. Since that happiness was wrapped up in the elf, Anders hoped Fenris was a man of good character as Hawke always insisted he was.

These arguments hounded him since Hawke was taken. But with Minrathous within reach time was running out for keeping such a secret when none of them knew what they would find of Kirkwall's Champion.

Anders nodded slowly. "It was not an infection," he confirmed. "I was sure you wouldn't believe it, but Sal— _Hawke_ insisted I make up something."

"What the hell is going on, mage?" Fenris growled in frustration, his patience growing thin very quickly. "Why did Salea wish to lie to me?"

It hurt then, and it hurt now. Like a reopened wound the reminder of the rogue's secrecy stung terribly. Even more so because the blasted mage was privy to whatever this secret was when Fenris had not been trusted with it.

Anders blinked wearily with a heavy sigh.

"Could you at least release me so we can talk like civilized people? It is a long story." The mage paused while the elf continued to glare at him. Then, he added, "Fenris, Hawke had every intention of telling you himself. He simply didn't get the chance with all that's happened."

That seemed to placate at least some small fear or pain that was haunting the elf, for he released Anders and stepped away.

Once they were on opposite sides of the small cabin, Fenris growled, "Talk."

It did indeed turn out to be a long story, as Anders said. Going back to the days he spent in Amaranthine with the Warden Commander.

"Her name was Velanna," Anders continued, speaking of the female dalish elf they'd conscripted into their small group of Grey Wardens. "She was a prickly thing, much like, well, much like you." Fenris was not amused. "She wouldn't let anyone really get to know her for a long time, but somehow the Warden Commander, Rowan," Anders paused. "He has a way with people, just like Hawke. Resist all you like but in the end you find yourself loyal to a fault to the man. Willing to befriend him, tell him anything. This happened with Velanna. She was very passionate about elf histories and tales, and furious that so much of it had been lost. What she did know, she didn't like sharing with anyone else, but there was one thing she told Rowan about."

Anders looked across at Fenris who'd stood perfectly still and silent since he began speaking.

"There is a ritual—another dark, evil spell, I'm sure you'd call it," Anders smirked at the elf, without really feeling any humor. "The people of the Dales protect the knowledge of this ritual fiercely. It's one of the few things their Keepers have made certain never to forget. Velanna was her Keeper's First, and so she was taught this ritual as part of her training to become the next Keeper before she was cast out of her clan. That's another story entirely. But Velanna didn't have anything to repay the debt she felt she owed to Rowan for all his help, so she offered the ritual to him since the Warden Commander's lover is also male."

"What are you getting at, mage?" Fenris demanded abruptly. "What does any of this have to do with Salea?"

"The ritual, Fenris," Anders said, continuing as if there were no interruption. "Is from ancient times. In elven lore it comes from the period when elf interaction with the Imperium _quickened_ the elf people—when they believe they lost their immortality. For the first time ever elves began to age and die. Their fear caused them to withdraw from men entirely and isolate themselves. As you undoubtedly know, the Tevinter Imperium saw this as a sign of hostility and they invaded Elvhenan, killing and enslaving it's people. The ritual is believed to be a blessing to them either from the Maker or Andraste around the time the prophetess lead the Alamarri and then also the elves against the Imperium. The purpose of the ritual is to help the elves in dire times when their numbers become dangerously threatened as they were during that war.

Salea, I told him about it once. He thought it was an amazing thing. But after that initial interest, over time, he seemed to have forgotten about it."

Fenris broke his gaze away from the mage, and began a slow pacing of the cabin. All this lead-up to the explanation of just what this ritual was and what it entailed did not bode well with him. It couldn't be good, otherwise Anders would just come out with it. He was never one to shy away from being forward, after all.

Fenris wasn't going to like this.

"When Leandra died," Anders' voice grew soft. "Hawke came to me with questions about the ritual: Did I know how to perform it? Could it really work? More importantly, would it work on a human?"

Fenris froze, his feet stilling their quiet pacing. "What did you do to him, _mage_?" His gaze was dark, the power of it held Anders captive for a moment.

"I did what he asked," Anders said.

"And what was that?" Fenris' deep voice rumbled though it remained lowered.

"According to Velanna and the stories she knew, many died in the past attempting the changes the ritual requires be done to the recipient's body." Anders' gaze grew distant in memory. "It was extremely painful." Flashes of Salea laid out on a table, screaming while Anders worked the magic…

He shuddered.

A haunted, pained look crossed Fenris' eyes. "What did you do? _Tell me_!"

"The ritual, Fenris," Anders looked him in the eye. "Is used to enable a male to carry and give birth to a child."

Fenris watched the world slip away in a haze of blackness. Later, he would not be able to tell what he felt in that moment, all he knew is that the world went black and then it turned red. Before he fully registered what he was doing the darkness of the room flashed with the blue light of his lyrium markings, and with a roar he did not recognize as his own, he charged the abomination.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris is pissed...but what else is new?

Anders should have seen it coming. Truth was, though, he'd kept thinking about what he'd told Hawke the day they discovered the rogue was pregnant. That were it Anders, he would be amazed to discover his lover willing to do such a thing for him. He hoped for Salea's sake that this was only the outburst of all of Fenris' hurt, anger, and frustration that had been building and building since his lover was taken. As it was, he barely threw up a protection spell in time to deflect that glowing fist. He'd witnessed just what the elf could do to a person's insides and he had no wish to be on the receiving end. The two of them hated each other, that was no secret. They'd threatened each other before but neither of them would have gone through with any of those threats, not when Hawke needed them both.

This time, though, the mage felt the glowing elf had every intention of grabbing hold of his beating heart and crushing it between his gauntleted fist.

The force of Fenris' strike knocked him stumbling back against the door to the small cabin. The elf immediately followed. This time when he struck the wood shattered and they tumbled through into the hull where the ship's storage was kept. Crates and barrels scattered around them in their struggle.

The glowing elf was on top of him before he could gain his feet. Anders quickly cast a mind blast spell. The powerful force of the pulsing wave sent Fenris flying across the room into the far wall. "Fenris," Anders yelled. "Listen to me."

The elf was charging him again with a roar that carried through the hull. Anders deflected another blow from the raging elf thankful Fenris did not carry his enormous sword when wandering the small spaces of the ship.

"Fenris, return to some sense," Anders roared before throwing up a barrier that even the elf's phasing abilities could not pass through. "There's more." The glowing elf seethed and began pacing the length of the invisible barrier all the while keeping his hateful glare on the mage.

Fenris recognized the spell. Didn't need to pummel his body against it to know he could not pass through it.

"Coward," he rumbled. "Hiding behind your _magic_."

"Magic that has protected you and your precious Salea time and time again," Anders countered. "Magic that saved Hawke's life when his injuries from the battle with the Arishok would have killed him." Fenris continued to pace reminding Anders of a great jungle cat.

"I will not say that magic is without its uses," Fenris growled. The admission must have pained him. "Only that its uses are severely outnumbered by its evil. I'm no fool. This _ritual_ must have required blood magic. How dare you use such a thing on Salea."

"He wanted it—"

"No matter that he wanted it." Fenris' voice rose above Anders'. "Bear your share of the responsibility like a man. You didn't have to do what he asked. Now you've tainted him. _You_ , who supposedly support the idea that blood magic is evil and should be stopped. Hypocritical _bastard_. You willingly entered into a contract with a demon after all your bravado that mages should be stronger, allowed their freedom so that turning to blood magic is not a temptation or last resort. And you subjected Salea to its evil."

Anders shook his head.

"I entered no contract," he said. "None was needed. Not with Justice around. And I never would have done it were it not for Salea. He wanted it. He wanted it for his mother. He wanted it for _you_. This may be the one time that blood magic cannot be called evil. Not considering what it gave you."

Fenris ceased his pacing, a spike of icy chill branching its frozen tendrils up his spine.

"What do you mean?" It was a hoarse whisper.

"It worked," Anders said, letting the gravity of that information sink in. "I think you know that I don't just mean the ritual worked." Fenris just stared at him. The glow of his markings greatly diminished. "Salea was pregnant with your children when Danarius took him. I believe that— _Fenris_."

Fenris was gone. Tearing from the hull up the stairs, storming through the ship to reach the deck.

Once he broke through the stuffy confines of the ship and emerged into the salty night air he felt he could breathe again. But it hurt. Every breath seared his throat and made his lungs ache. He rushed over to a railing and bent over the side staring at the black waters. Was he really having a panic attack? He always thought it was a weakness suffered only by the weak.

After long minutes of painful, heaving breaths he admitted that he _was_ weak. Salea made him weak, but it was weakness he could never be ashamed of.

Fenris licked his dry lips and squeezed his eyes closed. Salea was pregnant. As impossible as that notion seemed to be, he knew it was true. The look in his love's eyes when he'd emerged from the mage's clinic that day…The words he spoke about his mother. The deep sorrow in his voice that he was giving Leandra something she'd always wanted. Fenris remembered her speaking of grandchildren often before it became known that he and Salea would not be separated.

 _Maker_ , how could he have been so blind? Salea's 'illness'. Refusing drinks. Thinking back Fenris realized that even before Salea knew, the man was drinking far less. When he did have a drink it was small and very weak. There were other signs. Perhaps less obvious. More than once Fenris caught his lover with a hand over his stomach, a peaceful if not longing expression on his beautiful face. Fenris wondered about it briefly, but never thought anything of it. He figured Salea was just thinking—about his family, about Fenris. Any number of things. To be fair to himself there was simply no way he could have known or guessed. Still, the guilt plagued him. He should have pressed Salea to talk to him when Fenris got back from inquiring about his sister. Like he said in his letter he would do. He knew then the rogue had something to tell him, and Fenris was deeply curious about what it might be. But then his thoughts were invaded by Varania's arrival and his hate and suspicions that Danarius was lurking nearby. Amidst all the planning and preparing and waiting, and with Fenris' patience running thin, and tensions high, he'd completely shoved concerns for his lover out the back door. Like always Salea put someone else's needs before his own. Kept his secret until Fenris was of a better state of mind to listen and understand.

That hurt the most. Salea must have been hurting. Must have needed his lover's support. Anders said it was painful. How could he have not noticed his Salea had suffered so much? What the hell was wrong with him? That he could look at the one person in the world he loved and not know something was wrong…

Now it was too late.

Those little ones— _his_ little ones. Danarius wanted them. There was no doubt now that that was why Salea was taken. The horrible question that ate him from the inside out now was, what would the blood mage do to get them?

Fenris felt his eyes sting and wiped away the moisture before it could fall.

"Salea," he whispered, wishing his voice could carry across the black waters twinkling with the night sky. "Be strong. I'm coming." Then fury boiled up in him and his eyes flashed with hatred. "Danarius," he said in a deep rumble. "If you harm any of my precious ones I will make you eat your own heart."


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Canticle verses from the Chant of Light taken from the Dragon Age Wiki.

Salea knew they'd reached their destination when activity on the wooden planks above him picked up to a near frenzy. He heard the muffled shouting of orders being given and the stampede of crewmen running to obey. He didn't know if there would be an opportunity to escape, but he had to try. It wasn't in him to let this go on any further. He had been in worse situations before, at least he kept telling himself that. Surely if he could survive the fall of Lothering and escape the massacre with his family he could escape from Danarius with his babes just as well. It would be difficult, he knew. He would undoubtedly be surrounded by guards, mages as well, with Danarius close by. He would be in a city, not to mention a busy harbor, he'd never seen before with no one to depend on and no way to get back to Kirkwall.

Oh, well, one thing at a time.

Salea slowly pushed to his feet. He had to keep a hand to the wall to keep from falling over. Since his hands and feet were unbound he'd made certain to get up and do whatever exercise he could manage in the small space. But Danarius succeeded in weakening him. His muscles trembled with the simple effort of standing and the rocking beneath his feet nearly sent him tumbling more than once.

When the side of the ship bumped against what he guessed must be a dock, Salea fell hard to his knees. He cursed, and had a moment of despair. If he could barely stand, how in the world could he hope to get up the blasted stairs let alone put up a fight worthy of a heroic escape? It was impossible. Simple as that.

After a moment, listening to the ruckus throughout the ship around him, Salea placed his palm over the small mound. Feeling the warmth and vitality there beneath his flesh calmed his mind. Fenris was coming; wouldn't be far behind them. Salea really didn't need to know the layout of the city he'd been dragged to. Didn't need to know anyone. All he needed was to escape his captors in the hustle and bustle of the busy harbor and keep hidden for a few days. He could survive that long. He knew how to survive without shelter, and anything else he needed he could simply _borrow_ from those who could afford it. That's all. Fenris would be there. He was coming. Salea just needed to hold out till then.

Later, when Danarius' guards came for him, they hauled him to his feet and held him by each bicep between two of them. They were strong and rougher than they needed to be, but they weren't very quick or especially bright since they seemed to think the once great Champion of Kirkwall was no longer a threat. When they stooped to grab him, Salea easily slipped a deft hand over one man's boot relieving it of a small, deadly stiletto blade and slid it up his sleeve. Weakened as he was, he didn't need to pretend to look defeated, but he made sure not to struggle or stumble to give the guards as little excuse as possible to accidentally find the stolen dagger.

They moved through the narrow corridors and stairwells quickly, steadily rising from the bowels of the ship. Salea's eyes burned whenever they grew near the lit lanterns that lined the walls. So long in the dark made his eyes weak. Yet another stumbling block in the already risky and shaky plan for his escape. Once outside the light would be painfully bright. He couldn't very well take his captors by surprise if he couldn't see anything. Then Hawke remembered something Isabela told him once. She was drunk at the time, but what she'd said made sense. Somehow they'd gotten onto the topic of a man Isabela used to…spend a lot of time with. She'd ranted and raved in her drunken stupor about how he was one of the only pirates she knew who wore an eye patch because he really did have only one eye. Apparently it is not as common an injury in the pirating world as more honest, law-abiding people think. Why this man's genuine monocular state was such a big deal to the Rivaini, Salea still didn't understand. He supposed Isabela was drunk when she discovered the hideous sunken socket and was forever scarred by the experience.

Salea smirked to himself at the memory. But that night he'd come away with a bit of information that might help him now. When he questioned her she told him that the eye patch served a very important purpose. Those on duty at night who had need to move about both above and below deck kept one eye covered at all times while inside with the light of the lanterns. When they stepped outside into the night they switched the eye patch over so they could see in the dark instantly without having to wait for their eyes to adjust to the darkness. He didn't know if it could work in reverse, but instead of blinking away from the lanterns and closing his eyes against the light, he forced his eyes to stay open and concentrate on the flickering flames. To his relief it seemed to be working. His eyes hurt less and less until soon he could bear the light without any pain at all.

When they finally emerged into a corridor illuminated with natural sunlight from a large hatch in the ceiling Salea nearly wept. To finally see the blue sky and feel sunlight on his face seemed like such a simple thing, and yet it meant everything to him right then. The small group moved pointedly toward the base of the stairs leading up through the hatch. Salea couldn't help tilting his head up trying to catch a glimpse of glorious blue. But the hatch must be located in an overhang because all he saw was more wood ceiling.

They slowly ascended the stairs. The guards easily held the smaller man up between them when Salea stumbled, their grips never leaving the rogue's upper arms, which he was very grateful for. He would need that dagger.

Finally at the top of the stairs Salea could feel the warmth from the sun, and the light was far brighter. Around one more corner and he'd finally be outside again. Maker, he longed for fresh air.

The moment their group rounded the corner and Hawke caught his first glimpse of bright blue sky everything went black. It came on so suddenly with no explanation that it startled a cry from his throat. He blinked his eyes several times. They were indeed open, but he could see nothing. Fear and panic rose up in him. Had he gone blind after so long without the sun?

Then he felt his babes' energy stir. Salea's belly warmed with its heat. Over the time spent in his prison he'd come to recognize this reaction as a sign. It felt like his babes were attempting to warn and protect him. There was only one reason they did this.

A moment later he felt the blood mage's presence at his side. Heard him cluck his tongue in disapproval.

"Now, this isn't proper behavior for a slave," Danarius said close to Salea's ear. He felt his forearm gripped tightly and the stolen dagger was removed. "Slaves who plot and steal from their betters find their offending limbs painfully separated from their bodies." A pause. "Lovely view, isn't it?"

Salea's heart pounded. The tone in the mage's voice revealed that he knew very well Hawke could not see. Were there really spells like this? Was it permanent? Maker, please. He swallowed down his panic.

"Can't have you getting any ideas in your head, can we?" Danarius continued. That's when it struck Salea. His mind was unclouded, untainted by the blood mage's control. He'd been allowed to think of Fenris without the haunting images or the hate and anger that went with them. He'd been able to think clearly to plan for escape. For a few brief moments his mind had been his own once more…because Danarius had allowed it. The mage let Salea have a little time completely alone in his head, let him hope. He allowed the desperate rogue to believe there was a chance all so he could take it away again. To prove that he could. Prove that he could render Salea completely helpless with no effort at all.

Salea's breaths were heavy with his hatred for this man.

"Now," Danarius said, and Salea could hear the smug mockery in the man's voice as the mage leaned down to whisper in his ear. "Let's forget these little ideas of rebellion. You cannot win. And just to be certain you cannot orient yourself I will take another of your senses." Panic spiked in Salea's chest before he could control it. "Do not worry. Your senses will be returned to you eventually."

Then with no further indication or warning that anything was happening all sound vanished. The cry of the gulls overhead, the crew on the ship, the roaring crowd in the harbor, all of it silenced. He could neither see nor hear the world around him. The only anchor he felt he had to the world were the strong hands on his arms guiding him through the harbor and then the city. Salea had on many occasions been helpless. Helpless to stop the horde of darkspawn descending on his home, helpless to control where fate was leading him, helpless to save his family. But he'd never felt so completely helpless physically before. He'd always been able to fight back.

This time, though, he was terrified.

Salea startled every time something touched him that he couldn't see. At one point something splashed lightly across his face and chest and he didn't know if it was water or blood. He could not fight like this. Couldn't run. He could not defend his babes. He was as helpless as they were. Perhaps even more so.

He tried to reign in his fear. Kept telling himself it would clear up soon. That Danarius wouldn't leave him this way because then torturing him wouldn't be nearly so fun, but the panic was setting in despite his efforts. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, his breaths quickening and becoming shallow. Small tremors shook through him and he could imagine his captors mocking him for revealing such fear. Not that it mattered, he couldn't hear them. He wished he could.

Then he felt a stirring in his belly. A warmth pooled there where his babes were nestled before spreading over him. It was dulled at first, but soon voices broke through the spell on his ears. They were not completely clear, but he could understand what they were saying. Men and women alike were speaking out-a well known and well loved oration.

The Chant of Light.

Dozens were reciting the verses as he passed, spreading the word of the Chantry.

... _Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow._

__In their blood the Maker's will is written__

__..._ _

_Maker, though the darkness comes upon me,_

_I shall embrace the light. I shall weather the storm._

_I shall endure._

_What you have created, no one can tear asunder_

_..._

_Though all before me is shadow, Yet shall the Maker be my guide._

_I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond._

_F_ _or there is no darkness in the Maker's Light_

_And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost_

_..._

_Blessed are they who stand before_

_The corrupt and the wicked and do not falter._

_Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just..._

They were a chorus of words. Each speaking from different canticles of the Chant, yet somehow they all seemed to be speaking to him. He took comfort in their words. His family never really attended at the Chantry due to their sometimes unfair, and immoveable views on mages, but Salea believed in a higher power. He believed, at the very least, in the comfort such a belief brought to those with a little faith. He sought that comfort now, grew strong from it. So when his hearing faded out again, and his babes quieted once more, he wasn't afraid. He silently thanked his little ones, sent all his love to them and felt a flutter in response. Then he focused all his attention on counting his steps and memorizing the turns they took. It was easier now that he wasn't so afraid. When he escaped he would find his way back to this Chantry. There he would have a safe haven for a short period, which was more than enough time to get whatever information he would need to lose himself in the city until he could find Fenris.


	14. Chapter 14

There was nowhere in the world he hated more—nowhere he wanted to revisit less—than Minrathous.

Fenris glared at the harbor they maneuvered through with such a deep hatred that all of his companions gave him a wide berth. The white-haired, seething elf had stripped of his armor and weapons already. He remained barefoot, but traded in his tight black leathers for loose-fitting cotton. There were a few more preparations needed to complete his image, but Fenris wanted to witness their approach to the Tevinter city. Not because there were any good feelings about the place or its people, but because he didn't want to come up on deck after making port and have to take it all in at once. He was never allowed on deck as Danarius' slave. At least this way he knew he wasn't being brought back a prisoner. Not really. Having the freedom to see the hated city from a distance would serve as a reminder that this time he had some control.

Isabela came on deck and tsked at his brooding. The lecherous pirate woman was quite stunning dressed as a respectable mage's wife. Her gown was long and delicately form fitting. The rich ivory color complemented her dark skin. The neckline was bordered with intricate embroidery, and the hems were a deep emerald. She'd traded her bandana in for a loose piling of curls, and her hoop earrings for a long, slender pair of colorful peacock feathers dangling from her lobes. Fenris was rather stunned, to be honest. He'd had his doubts whether or not Isabela could pull off the part, in appearance as much as attitude or action. But he was surprised to find she looked exactly like many wives of powerful mages he'd seen attending Danarius' gatherings. He glanced down. She'd even traded in her thigh-high boots for flat sandals, the bindings of which criss-crossed over the tops of her feet and up her calves.

"I know, love," Isabela pouted. "I look atrocious." Fenris' eyes widened at her word choice. It seemed everyone was taking this seriously and doing their very best to pull this charade off. He was glad for that. " _Your_ transformation will be a bit lovelier," she continued with an all too familiar grin. "Come, let's make you tall, dark, and oh, so inappropriately _stimulating_."

That was the lewd Rivaini he knew. Fenris scowled and followed her into her cabin.

* * *

Fenris glared at everyone. Not a soul wandering the busy streets and markets of Minrathous was spared his intense ire. He knew no one would recognize him. No one short of Danarius himself, that is. No one looks at a slave. No one cares enough to be bothered with one aside from a master of slaves, and that attention is limited to the slaves they own. His white hair had been dyed a deep brown, his clothing was simple and plain, but clean. Clothing befitting a personal slave who serves in a wealthy magister's household. The clothing covered his entire body. The only remaining telltale sign of his identity were his markings on his hands and feet. The high collar of his shirt hid the branch-like markings on his throat. The rest Isabela had covered with a jar of a heavy creamy substance worn by nobles and prostitutes alike. With a little experimenting Isabela was able to match the tone of the cream to Fenris' skin and it had blended nicely, concealing the hated markings for the first time since he'd received them.

"Just don't go giving yourself away by glowing like a human lightning bug," she'd said. " _Elf_ lightning bug…you know what I mean."

Beside Fenris walked Merrill similarly dressed. The Dalish elf was a nervous mess. Fortunately that was not unusual behavior for a slave in this country. Donnic and Sebastian were dressed in full armor, armed to the teeth as any proper escort of an important mage should be. And Varic acted as Anders' advisor, a job the talkative and devious dwarf had no trouble performing. Anders walked in front with his _wife_ on his arm. Fenris couldn't help thinking that the mage would have fit fantastically into this world where magic reigned and perverted, killed and enslaved. His rather garishly colored robes attracted attention as it was meant to do. They needed to gather information and there was no better way than to garner the interest of those who see everything that transpires on the streets.

Their story was that Anders was a wealthy merchant from Neromenian and was visiting Minrathous to make connections and trade alliances with the local merchants. Neromenian lay across the Nocen Sea from Minrathous, so if anyone saw them come off the ship it wouldn't appear suspicious since the quicker route was by ship. Isabela ensured her crew would keep to that story and they carried all the appropriate papers and licenses for a supply and trade vessel, should anyone ask. They'd used such forgeries many times in their line of work.

Their group would be staying at a respectable inn nearer to the center of the city away from the filth, and overcrowded markets and harbors. They had worried over how to enter the city. But in the end Fenris told them Danarius expected them to come after Salea. Attempting to hide or sneak around would only draw unwanted attention from the city sentinels. Many were mages and nearly impossible to fool. Their group would keep eyes and ears open for possible allies or sources of information, but their first course of action was to settle at the inn.

Fenris knew the chances of spotting his old master in the busy market would be next to impossible. The possibility of seeing his lover with the magister even slimmer. But he could not stop searching, hoping. Over the next few days they would scout out Danarius' estate. Fenris knew the layout of that hated pile of bricks better than anyone alive aside from Danarius. The blood mage's _little wolf_ had been privy to every private area, dungeon, and secret room so certain was Danarius' hold over his warrior elf slave. Now Fenris would do everything in his power to exploit the blood mage's overconfidence.

* * *

Fenris roared. A table slammed into the far wall of the large room at the inn. The force of the impact splintered the wood into a dozen pieces. His lyrium markings were blazing like blue fire against his skin. It fueled his anger, his murderous fury. A chair followed the path across the room.

The warrior elf paced the length of the room, growling in frustration. _Gone_.

Another roar of anger and a second chair met its destruction against the wall.

 _Danarius was gone_. Fenris went to the blood mage's estate with Sebastian to see what kind of security Danarius had established to protect his captive. All they found were the servants and slaves who kept the estate running. A few guards at the gate and around the grounds, but Fenris knew his old master was not on the property at all—hadn't been for months. Fenris knew without the confirmation Sebastian managed to get from one of the servant girls on her way to the market. Danarius was holed up somewhere else. There were thousands of places he could hide in the Tevinter capital city—infinitely more if he'd left Minrathous to continue his journey to another city. They couldn't search the entire city, the entire country.

But Fenris would. Damn it, if that's what it took to get Salea back…he would search till the end of his days. But one step at a time. Minrathous first. Unless they found evidence otherwise, his only hope was that Danarius remained in the city somewhere and Salea with him. The mage wasn't taking any chances. Neither could Fenris. Sebastian was on his way at that moment to confirm that the Arendün ship had made port in Minrathous and confirm that Danarius disembarked. If he did then they would search every inch of this hated city to find him. Someone had to know something. Danarius was an important man in the Imperium, recognizable. They would just have to find someone willing to talk without raising suspicion or drawing attention.

Until then—a bed was lifted and toppled into a corner of the room—Fenris had only one way to vent his severe hatred for the man who'd stolen his Salea. Anders and the others could only sit outside and make certain no one came asking about the rampage that was destroying one of the finest rooms of the inn.

* * *

Salea sat against the wall of the circular room the guards placed him in days before. He knew how many days because _this_ room, thank the Maker, had a single window to let in the light. The room was small, but not without some comforts. There was a small bed with clean linen and a table and chairs. The ceiling was high and the window was near the very top. Even if Salea put a chair on the table and stood on the chair he still had no hope of reaching it.

His sight and hearing had slowly returned to him, and received meals regularly. He was even allowed to bathe properly once a day. Under guard, of course, but by then Salea couldn't have cared less if Danarius himself was in the room watching him wash. He'd forgotten how it felt to be clean. It was a wonderful feeling. Even lifted his spirits a little despite his situation.

Another thing he was grateful for was the absence of unwanted company. Danarius had left him alone since their arrival. Salea was not hopeful or optimistic enough to think he'd seen the last of the mage, but a reprieve from his uncomfortable presence, no matter how brief, was nice. The dreams still haunted him. His thoughts were not his own again. He still saw visions of his fierce and beautiful Fenris ripping people to pieces, but thanks in large part to their unborn babes, Salea knew the truth. Would always know the truth. That Fenris loved him and these were Fenris' children. As long as he had them, that truth would never be destroyed by Danarius' lies.

The sound of the bar lifting on the door drew his attention. Salea watched the guards enter the room completely disinterested. That is until the hated blood mage followed them inside and closed the door. In the mage's hand was a glass bottle of a shiny, pearly liquid. It looked a little familiar, but he couldn't place it. Danarius' attempt to control or alter his thoughts didn't help.

Salea straightened against the wall when the three converged on him.

"Good morning, _Champion_ ," Danarius said in his self-satisfied manner that never ceased to anger Hawke. "How are your little ones?"

Salea had to fight from squirming under that lewd, squinting gaze. He felt extremely uncomfortable when those eyes roamed almost covetously over Salea's midsection. He knew with more confidence that Danarius wanted his babes. He didn't know what for, only that he would die first before he let the mage touch them.

"None of your business," Salea said eyeing one of the guards who stood over him.

Danarius chuckled. "I admire your spirit, Hawke. I like spirit," he smiled. "But I am afraid they very much _are_ my business. You see, they belong to one of my greatest creations. Fenris was my most successful experiment, but," Danarius nodded his head and the guards grabbed hold of Salea. Hawke struggled but the men were larger and he was still weak. Danarius crouched in front of him and rubbed a hand over Salea's stomach.

"They are perfection," he said in a near whisper, as if he had forgotten anyone else was there. His attention was solely on the unborn babes. Salea struggled again but it was hopeless. The blood mage looked at him and held up the bottle of the pearly fluid. "Open up," he said.

"What is that?" Hawke demanded.

Danarius grinned. "Lyrium in its purest form. Unprocessed. Fenris' children will be powerful, I have no doubt. But I wish to ensure my success, if you don't mind."

"I do mind," Salea growled. "Are you mad? You're a mage, you know what lyrium does to people. You'll _kill_ them."

"Lyrium runs in their very veins, it pumps through their hearts as blood. This will only help to increase that purity."

"You will kill me, then," Salea spat. "I do not have lyrium in my blood. You endanger them by endangering me." No matter what he said, Salea had a feeling nothing would change the mage's mind. He was mad with power and the craving for it would never be satisfied. Even if the lyrium did not harm his babes, it could kill Salea or seriously harm him, and they in turn would be killed just the same. If he survived…He'd seen those who mined the lyrium, those who were not careful. Dwarves who were supposedly immune to its effects; who merely handled it. Their minds deteriorated. Salea had no wish for a life like that. In his mind that wasn't survival.

Danarius gave him a salacious smile. "Oh, but you do," he said. "Fenris has spilled his seed in you many times. I sense the traces of lyrium in your blood. Without even knowing it, he has helped me by building you an immunity. It is not perfect. This will most likely make you very ill, but I am sure of my calculations. You will not be killed."

Salea fumed. That Danarius spoke of their intimacy at all incensed him. It was bad enough that he knew at all, that he was privy to Hawke's precious memories with his lover.

"And if your _calculations_ are wrong?" he ground through his teeth.

Danarius only smiled. "I am rarely wrong."

One of the guards gripped Salea's long dark hair and forced his head back. A gasp escaped past Salea's lips. Danarius gripped his jaw hard with strength Hawke never would have imagined the magister possessed. Forcing his mouth open he jammed the bottle between his teeth. Salea struggled the moment the lyrium flooded his mouth. Another hand stroked his throat and his body betrayed him, each swallow feeling like a convulsion. The lyrium burned the way ice burned, searing his insides with a cold so intense he felt he was on fire.

 _Maker_ , how could anyone survive this? His thoughts turned to Fenris. Was this similar to what Danarius had done to his lover?

After what felt like ages, the bottle finally empty, Danarius stepped back and the guards released him. Salea fell to the floor on his back.

Then the screaming began.


	15. Chapter 15

A thin, calloused hand slid up his thigh and rubbed gently over the sensitive flesh between leg and groin. Salea groaned sleepily, a smile tugging at his lips. A warm, wet mouth followed the path of the hand, leaving sweet kisses up his stomach to his chest. Salea kept his eyes closed because this was his favorite way to wake up—make his lover work for the reward of seeing the haze of pleasure in his golden-brown eyes. Fenris was very skilled and it was difficult to resist opening his eyes to watch the lovely elf work his magic over Hawke's body. When his lover reached his chest he bit down on one pert nipple.

 

"Fenris," Salea gasped, arching into the heated body as it settled over him. Something felt different. Strange. But Salea couldn't figure out what. He didn't care either. Not much in the world mattered when his lover's mouth suckled at his throat. Salea groaned again when Fenris' knee nudged against his groin stirring the blood to flow, and he heard a low chuckle in his ear. Again, Salea felt something wasn't quite right.

 

A hand wrapped around his sex and squeezed almost to the point of pain. Salea gripped the pillow behind his head with both hands, panting. He almost opened his eyes. Almost. But that would have been giving in too soon, and he never made it easy. As the hand began to stroke him that delicious, teasing mouth that Hawke craved so much trailed its way from his throat, along his jaw and to his lips. The kiss pressed firmly against him, forced his lips to part for the intruding tongue.

 

Suddenly Salea knew without a doubt something was very wrong. He began to remember…One thing he remembered instantly, vividly was that day in Aveline's office. Fenris told him two very important truths. _You can never trust dreams. But this_ , and Fenris had kissed him deeply. _This, you can always trust_. He was right. One thing he could always trust was Fenris' love for him and that love was evident, was intimately felt in every glance, every touch. Every kiss. This, whatever this was—whomever this was—it was not love, and it certainly was not Fenris.

 

Salea's eyes snapped open and for a moment the room appeared to be his own in Kirkwall. The man above him appeared to be Fenris. But because he knew it to be a lie the illusion could not hold and melted away. He was back in the circular room with the single high window and Danarius loomed over him with a smirk. Salea found a reserve of strength and shoved the mage off him and scrambled away, off the bed. His legs would not hold him and he collapsed to the cold floor. With the return to reality came the rush of pain that had wracked his body for long hours after he was forced to drink the lyrium. Blessed unconsciousness had allowed him to forget about it for a time, but now it overwhelmed him once more. His movement made him nauseous, but he needed to put as much distance between him and the magister as possible. He crawled to the far side of the room where he retched. Whether in truth his sickness was due to the lyrium or the knowledge Danarius had molested him in his sleep he did not know. However, he could only dry-heave since nothing was in his stomach. The lyrium already absorbed into his bloodstream. Too bad, he would have preferred that foulness to the taste of Danarius in his mouth. The only consolation it seemed was that the blood mage was still fully dressed. Salea, he was not surprised to find, was not. Naked as the day he was born, and very nearly just as vulnerable.

 

Danarius apparently found the situation amusing and his laughter made Hawke wish for all the world a single dagger to silence the mage forever. Salea placed a protective hand over the small mound of his belly that was growing a little bit each day.

 

"Come, come now, serah Hawke," Danarius mocked. "Don't you know your lover's touch?"

 

"I do," Salea said with a hated glare. "It's something no amount of your magic can replicate."

 

Danarius sat up. "Careful, Hawke," his tone changed, making Salea's skin crawl. "Or I might take that as a challenge." His eyes raked over Salea's naked form. "An entertaining, undoubtedly…stimulating challenge, but a challenge nonetheless."

 

"Do not touch me again," Hawke growled, the gold of his eyes burned in the sunlight let in by the window.

 

Danarius rose from the bed with a low chuckle. "You can hardly stop me, can you? I think not." The mage slowly approached. Salea fought the painful and weakened state the lyrium left his body in to rise to his feet. The world swam before his eyes for a time and when it steadied the blood mage was much closer than he liked.

 

"Do _not_ ," Hawke ordered, his voice much stronger than he could have hoped.

 

"It doesn't have to be so difficult, so terrible as you think," Danarius reasoned.

 

"No," Salea said, disdainfully. "I'm certain it's a thousand times worse than I can possibly imagine."

 

Danarius' eyes narrowed. "Do not test me, Hawke. I _will_ have your children when they are born. However, the state you are left in is entirely up to you." The magister came to a stop just in front of him. "I would prefer to keep you. Break you, but keep you so that you may care for your children while they are young. And you will serve me however I see fit." Danarius' larger frame loomed closer. The intent in his eyes as they roved over the rogue's flesh could not be mistaken. Salea wondered if the mage's very presence sucked the oxygen from his lungs as it was difficult to breathe.

 

"If I refuse to be kept?" Salea's voice came out low through short, panting breaths.

 

Danarius closed the gap between them. Salea could feel the mage's arousal as it pressed against him. He had to struggle to keep from being sick again. The fingers of a wrinkled hand curled in his long dark hair and gripped painfully. Danarius' mouth was so close that Salea tensed when the hot fetid breath puffed against his face.

 

"I will destroy you," Danarius said, all mocking aside only hate and anger remained. "Leave you in a pool of your body's blood after I've ripped the babes from you. You will die slowly knowing you cannot protect them. Knowing I will destroy their spirits as I did to Fenris. I will use them in ways you do not wish to imagine and control their power to do things your fears have already envisioned. The last thing you see on this world will be your children in _my_ arms."

 

It took everything in Salea's power not to shatter in a trembling mess, to keep the strength of his hatred in his glare rather than pleading in sight of his fears.

 

Danarius drew away slowly. His hand released Salea's hair with a last yank for emphasis. "Do not test me. You will find I am much more dangerous than Fenris or my reputation give me credit for. Remember what happened to your sweet, sweet mother?" Salea felt like Danarius thrust a poisonous dagger in his heart and twisted. "You have not _begun_ to witness the horrors magic can accomplish in the right hands."

 

Danarius left him. For that he could only be grateful. He sank to the ground trembling in uncontrollable quakes. Wrapping his arms around his stomach he protected his babes the only way he could. Tears dripped down his chin onto his arms as he was forced to relive the murder and desecration of his mother's body in vivid detail over and over again long into the night. At one point it was not his sweet mother whose dead, lifeless eyes stared back at him from the patchwork of a shambling corpse, but Fenris. Salea's misery and grief finally saw fit to bless him with unconscious oblivion after that. If he could have he would have thanked the Maker for the small kindness, though he knew it would not last.


	16. Chapter 16

Weeks went by. Slow, long,  _agonizing_  weeks and still nothing. Fenris, Sebastian, everyone was on the streets, in the city, out and about. Searching. With Anders' assumed status as a rich magister looking to establish trade connections, there were few places his small group would look suspicious. Still they were careful. Careful who they talked to and how it would be perceived if someone witnessed the conversations. During the day Anders conversationally inquired of the powerful magister he's heard so much about. At night Sebastian and Donnic dressed down and hit the low city taverns. Sometimes Varic accompanied them in hopes that his silver tongue would assuage some information from the less trusting patrons. The unbearable part about their investigations was that Fenris could not help. Not really. Both as a slave and an elf it was far too risky to let him be seen anywhere without his master, or his master's men.

Fenris had given his companions every bit of information he knew about Danarius, everything he knew of Tevinter and the inner workings of Minrathous itself. Anything that would help them to pass as loyal citizens to the Imperium. Made them memorize each fact and detail in hopes that they could draw on that knowledge to help them navigate conversations with these people without raising anyone's suspicions. But as a slave how much had he really known, or understood? With each passing day and no news, no results, no witnesses to Danarius' passage from the harbor or of any continued presence in the city, Fenris began to doubt himself-began to despair. Perhaps Danarius had outsmarted him yet again and there would be no trail to uncover, no witnesses willing or able to talk. But perhaps they just had not spoken to the right people yet. Fenris could only hope that there was a flaw in his old master's plan. They just had to find it and exploit it.

"Are you all right, sir?"

Fenris glared up at the young slave who worked in the commons of the inn. It was late, and Anders and Isabela were in their rooms. Merrill was with them. Fenris was waiting for the other three to return just like every night, and just like every night he could not stand to do it shut away in the rooms with the others. Every night he went to the common room set apart for the slaves and servants of the visiting magisters and other rich, important dignitaries. The watered down slop they passed for ale was all Fenris was allowed to drink as a slave, but drink it he did.

The elf boy was young, very young with a sweet face. Fenris knew all too well what such a kind-hearted youth would go through, probably was already going through, at his master's hand. His glare softened at the fear he saw in the boy's eyes.

He shook his head to clear it. "Wait. You have nothing to fear from me, boy." Fenris tried a smile and was rewarded with a shy grin. "Are you working?" The boy shook his head. "Then, would you like to join me?"

"All right," the boy said and sat down across from him. Fenris broke the bread on his plate in half and shared with the boy.

"What is your name?"

"Feyrn," the boy said, his mouth full with what was probably his first meal of the day. "What's yours?" The simple question was spoken with such innocent curiosity Fenris didn't feel like lying.

"Can you keep a secret?"

Feyrn nodded and leaned closer.

Fenris glanced around the room, but this late no one was around. Even the man working the bar was napping loudly on a pallet behind his counter.

"My name is Fenris."

"Fenris," the boy whispered in awe. "Like the great wolf?" Fenris nodded. "You don't look like a slave."

Fenris' brow lifted. "I don't?" Feyrn shook his head. "What do I look like?"

"A warrior," Feyrn said. Fenris chuckled.

"Perhaps I am. But if I were, as I am dressed as a slave, I would need you to keep it secret. You understand?" Feyrn nodded eagerly. Across the room Sebastian stepped in and lifted his chin. Fenris glanced at him before returning his attention to the slave boy. "Perhaps I will see you tomorrow night, Feyrn."

"Yes, sir," the boy whispered. Even Fenris could not mistake the twinkle of admiration in the boy's eyes.

When Fenris reached Sebastian the Starkhaven prince looked at him.

"What?" Fenris growled.

"Nothing. Only, are you sure it's a good idea telling that boy your name?" he said lowly so only Fenris could hear.

"You heard?"

"No," Sebastian smiled. "But I know you, and you just confirmed it."

Fenris frowned and stared past the large man at the dying candles on a table in the guest commons beyond. "I don't know why I told him," he said finally. Remembering the gold in the boy's brown eyes that shone when the light hit it. "Something about him reminded me of Salea. I found myself unable to lie." Fenris blinked and looked at Sebastian. "Besides, he is a slave boy," he said bitterly. "He doesn't have anyone to tell."

He headed up the stairs, then stopped. When he looked back Sebastian shook his head. "No luck. I am sorry, Fenris."

The elf nodded curtly, and continued up the stairs.

* * *

That night Fenris dreamt. Of Salea, of his unborn children. His dreams eventually turned to the slave boy, Feyrn. Something about the boy reminded him of something he could not quite grasp. Something about his name rang a bell. When he woke, Fenris lay on his mat on the floor staring at the sandstone ceiling. It was aggravating to feel something skirting around his mind like wisps of smoke, intangible, unable to figure out what was nagging him, what he was supposed to remember. In frustration he threw his pillow at the doorway and narrowly missed Anders who was coming through.

"Awake?" he said.

At the sight of the mage, the abomination dwelling inside him, memory sparked. Fenris shot up from his pallet. " _Feynriel!_ " he said.

Anders frowned. "What?"

"Feynriel," Fenris repeated jumping to his feet. "The half-elf kid Salea saved from the demons in the Fade. Hawke spared him from the Templars and let him choose his own freedom."

"I remember," Anders said, trying to figure out what Fenris was getting to. "What about him?"

"After letting him go, Salea received a letter from him. Feynriel thanked him, and told him that he was in Tevinter learning to control his dreams, his  _somniari_ power, whatever it's called."

Anders' face lit up with understanding.

"We knew Danarius would likely pay off or alter the memories of anyone who knew anything about his true location," Fenris continued.

"But surely someone like Danarius would use the litany of Adralla against dreamers having any power over him," Anders interjected. "Feynriel is certainly not the only somniari in Tevinter."

"Yes, but would he remember to take the same precautions with Salea?"

"…I don't know," Anders said slowly, but the first glimmer of hope was beginning to take hold. "He was your master, Fenris."

"Any of Danarius' failings have come about due to his overconfidence," Fenris sneered. "He thinks things through, but this time I think he's overlooked a very important detail." The elf glanced at the others who had woken and gathered around while they spoke. "Dreamers will rarely do favors or work for anyone other than themselves. They're powerful and they know it. Remember Orlanna? Feynriel saved her from her kidnappers by controlling them."

"He made them kill each other," Sebastian spoke up.

Fenris nodded. "And that's scratching the surface of what dreamers can do. We personally know a strong somniari, and he owes us, owes Salea at the very least, a very large debt."

"Then what the hell are we waiting for?" Varric said. "Let's snag us a dreamer."

* * *

Feynriel woke with a gasp. Sweat slid down the sides of his face. It was getting worse. Ever since Salea Hawke was captured by the blood mage known as Danarius, Feynriel had found himself unable to concentrate. The dreams Salea was forced to suffer were truly horrifying. Feynriel owed the man his life. He knew that in his heart. Everything he had now, his freedom, his control, was a gift from a man willing to give him a chance, to let him choose for himself what was best. Being unable to interfere with Danarius' treatment of Salea hurt. More than he could express.

He would make his master see this time. Make him understand that he needed to go to Minrathous just for a short time. Salea's lover, that strange white-haired elf who had not agreed with Hawke's decision to let Feynriel go, but stood by him anyway in the Fade-surely he'd come. From time to time Feynriel used his power to walk the Fade in order to enter the dreams of his loved ones just to be sure they were all right. Included in that small list had been his rescuer and his companions. Feynriel witnessed the feelings the white-haired elf had for Hawke. Leaving Salea to his fate would have never been an option. He would most certainly be in Minrathous.

"Don't worry, Salea," Feynriel whispered to the darkness of his room. "Your lover will find you. I promise you."

* * *

To be continued...


	17. Chapter 17

Fenris sat in a chair in their rooms facing the fire burning in the hearth. His forearms rested on his thighs, his olive-green gaze staring sightlessly into the dancing flame. His thoughts were miles away. As nearly his every waking moment dwelled on Salea and their babes, so were his thoughts currently occupied. It was only a week since they decided to search for Feynriel and seek his help. They had abandoned their search for Danarius in favor of this new goal. It was no small struggle to accept that course of action, but it was Fenris' own idea, which the others then agreed to.

Fenris swept a hand through his brown-dyed hair with a sigh. Letting his head hang between his shoulders he took to staring at the floor between his legs. He was certain—determined—that Danarius had made a vital mistake this time, and so it made the decision to abandon one search for another easier to come to terms with. Somniari were incredibly unlikely to help anyone let alone strangers from Kirkwall. Danarius had no reason to suspect they could know a mage of such power, let alone be able to enlist their help. They were rare and so very proud and secretive.

Danarius would protect himself from somniari walking his dreams, but would he protect Salea from them as well? That was the question he has asked himself a thousand times now and certainly will continue to ask a thousand times more. He believed—hoped—Danarius had not taken such measures. Magic and potions were rarely good for anyone with child. If, as they all suspected, Danarius had great interest in Salea's children, he would not wish to harm them or weaken them in any way. He would want them healthy, strong, perfect. All the better to gloat that he controlled them. If they could find Feynriel, if the young dreamer could walk the Fade and find Salea through his dreams, his nightmares, they could find his place of captivity. Fenris knew now this was probably their only chance to find his dearest Salea. He placed all his hope in it. This could not fail.

Once Feynriel had a location they could finally take action. Danarius would die, and he could finally hold his human lover in his arms again. They felt empty and cold without his embrace. He wanted his lover's smile again, his laughter, his sweet kiss. Fenris lifted his head to stare into the dying embers of a fire long growing cold in the lateness of the hour. He longed to hold his babes in his arms as much as it terrified him in the same instant. He never dreamed children were a possibility for him. Maker, he'd never believed Salea's love in all its sweetness and beauty could have ever belonged to him.

He did not deserve it. Not, certainly, if he could not protect it.

"Fenris."

The warrior elf looked over his shoulder at Anders standing in the door.

"Have you not been to bed?" the mage asked.

Fenris glanced at the lightening of the night sky out the window. He rubbed the heel of his hand into his eye and blinked tiredly. He shook his head.

Anders took a few steps into the room. "We have a bit of luck," he said and Fenris turned in his chair to face him. "There is a, shall we say, high-class social gathering in a couple of weeks. Everyone who is anyone in Minrathous is rumored to be attending. Now, I don't know that Danarius will be there, but even if he is not, his absence will likely be a subject of conversation. It will certainly be a good place to garner any information on a new somniari. As much as they are not particularly liked, they certainly are respected and are always subject to rumor and conversation."

Fenris nodded. "And?"

"And I have secured an invitation by way of our new good friend Barrus(1)." Anders was proud of this hard-won accomplishment but struggled not to grin. High society members of the Imperium were not known for their trusting natures. Getting on good terms with the mage Aristocrat was a challenge. One that was finally bearing fruit and certainly had nothing to do with the fact that Barrus' eye followed Anders'  _enrapturing_  young  _wife_ more than it should. Isabela played her part well.

Fenris' shoulders sagged in relief for a moment before he stood and regarded the mage with a look that was not wholly loathsome. Perhaps the tiniest bit respectful. Anders knew better than to hope for too much from the magic-hating elf, but it was at least something.

"Good," Fenris said. "That's real good. Maybe now we can finally get somewhere."

Anders frowned and looked away for a moment. When he looked back at Fenris he appeared less enthusiastic than he had a moment ago. "There's no guarantee we will even learn anything. And the party is weeks from now. All this time and we have very little to show for it."

Fenris shook his head with a growl. "Anders, I am not going to have this conversation. No one is more infuriatingly frustrated over this than me. Because of who I am— _what_  I am—I cannot even go  _look_  for him like I need to. Salea would undoubtedly have words of encouragement for you, but I am not him. I need you to—" He stopped and shook his head with an aggravated sound. Eventually he looked the mage in the eye again. "Salea needs you to  _not_  have any doubts of our success. We will find him. We will go to that damned party and we will find  _some_ thing to lead us in the right direction, or so help me."

Anders let out his breath with a small forced grin. "You're right." Silence spread between them, both of them attempting not to reveal how this mission was draining them in every way. "So, uh," Anders spoke up finally. " _We_ , huh? You're coming with Bela and I?"

"Every rich, snob-nosed, stick-up-his-ass, mage bastard is going to bring along at least one personal slave to attend their every whim at that party and you're sure as hell not taking  _Merrill_." Anders just stared at him. "No offense," Fenris grudgingly added after a not so short hesitation.

"Of course," Anders said, and this time he did smile. "None taken. I look forward to it."

Fenris grumbled under his breath as he pushed past the mage to escape to his own small room in the suite. Hopefully, now that he'd exhausted himself perhaps he could sleep out of sheer physical need.

Once he'd flopped onto his pallet he let out a long, heavy sigh. The next few weeks were going to be a miserable wait.

* * *

tbc... Thanks for reading.

1- Barrus is a made up character.


	18. Chapter 18

Salea was sick. He was always sick now. Since that first memorable day Danarius forced raw lyrium down his throat, there had been several more unpleasant experiences. In the beginning he would be sick for a few days, mercifully unconscious for most of that time. But then he'd eventually start feeling like himself again. However, as Danarius continued his dosages Salea found the strength to rise from his bed less and less until he could not at all. He would have been terrified for his children were it not for the fact that they seemed to be thriving. Nearly seven months into the pregnancy now the babes seemed incredibly small to him. Since there were two of them it seemed especially strange that the roundness of his belly could still be hidden in a loose long shirt. But they moved almost constantly. When he rubbed his rounded flesh or spoke softly to them they responded with enthusiasm. He could even feel glimpses of their joy, beautiful in its innocent simplicity.

That, far more than Danarius' hired physician's encouraging words, kept outright panic at bay. He was forever grateful for the comfort of knowing first hand that they were healthy. Were it not for that miraculous connection he would have no way of knowing with any kind of certainty whether the lyrium was harming them or not. He sure as hell was not going to take the word of anyone in this place.

Danarius was pleased, he knew. That was a worrisome negativity through all of his suffering. Despite his own declining health, there was no shortage to the magister's pleasure at seeing how the babes progressed-and Salea still did not know what the effects of the lyrium would be in the long run. Would his children be able to function normally, or would they be destroyed by the immense power they possessed? All he knew was that anything that made the blood mage 'pleased' caused him great distress, none of which helped in his weakened, declining state.

There was a sound at the door and Salea groaned into the pillow he clutched tightly to him where he lay on his side beneath the blankets. He prayed to the Maker it was not Danarius. He didn't have the strength to stand up to the mage right then, and he absolutely loathed being unable to rebel. He was determined to make things difficult for Danarius at every turn, if he could help it at all. But this day, he knew he could not, and he did not wish for his inactivity to be mistaken for complaisance.

When the door opened Salea let his eyes slip closed in relief. Lillan stepped through with a tray of food and a pitcher of water. Since their journey from Kirkwall, the young elf slave had slowly become more comfortable with him. At times they shared short conversation whenever Danarius sent the girl in alone to check on him. From what Salea could see from the bed the meal Lillan brought was light, fresh fruits and bread with slices of cheese. But the mere sight of it, let alone the smell made his stomach roil, his face flush with heat, and his head spin with nausea. His stomach growled with hunger. He hadn't eaten in days, and the way he was feeling, he wouldn't be able to eat now either. It probably was not good for his children, but he just couldn't. The very idea of eating brought bile to his throat.

When it became apparent to Lillan that he was not going to touch anything on his plate, she placed it on the small table across the room and left with a sympathetic look on her face. Alone again Salea turned his head to the small patch of light filtering in through the small window near the high ceiling. Maker, what he wouldn't give to feel the sunlight on his skin again—feel the wind on his face. He had not been outside since that day when they arrived on the docks, and before that he spent locked up in the deepest, darkest hold of Danarius' ship. He longed for it. Even for a short time the fresh freedom that only nature can provide would feel incredible.

He could not deny his fear and confusion when some time later guards abruptly entered the room and dragged him from bed. Salea possessed no strength to fight them and so they had little trouble. One of them, a rather large brute, carried the smaller bearing man without effort out the door and down a long, stone hallway. Salea tried to keep his eyes open and pay attention to the layout of the building he was being held in, but he could only see so much from his position and his eyelids were so very heavy. The only thing outweighing the pain he felt with each jostling step was his fear of the unknown. Where were they taking him? Was Danarius displeased with him, or tired of waiting? Was the blood mage making good on his promise to rip his children from his body and leave him to bleed to death?

When a large door creaked open and fresh air and sunlight hit him suddenly, his eyes jerked open. Before them was a small, circular courtyard with the building on one side and high stone walls on the other. There were no trees. No grass or weeds grew in the sand-like dirt surrounding a large, worn and dried up fountain in the center. But the air was fresh and clean. The sunlight hitting the fountain and the walls cast long, angular shadows signifying late afternoon. When the guard carrying him stepped out from the shadows of his prison, the light on his face was warm and comforting. They placed him on the stone bench surrounding the base of the tortured fountain and then stepped back to guard the door once Salea displayed the strength to sit up without their assistance. He didn't know why he'd been granted this relief. Perhaps Lillan had pleaded with the physician since Salea did not believe the elf slave could have mustered the courage to beg Danarius on his behalf.

Whatever the reason he wanted to enjoy every second in the sun for as long as they would allow. After all, he knew not whether he would be allowed this freedom a second time.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Fenris sat in the commons room for servants and slaves at the inn. It was late and his meal long finished. The simple, flavorless gruel and dry bread was far more enjoyable when shared with company, and Feyrn was more than eager to be that company. The young child seemed wholly fascinated by Fenris and wanted to know of his adventures. No matter how much Fenris told the kid that he was a simple slave, Feyrn wouldn't believe him. Since no one was around so late at night Fenris saw no harm in regaling him with some of Hawke's escapades in Kirkwall. He changed the names and spoke in quiet tones, but Feyrn was riveted. Bright, wide eyes were held rapt with every thrilling battle from the Deep Roads to the throne room of the Viscount's Keep.  
Fenris had never really spoken to a child before, certainly had never been admired by one—that he remembered anyway. He was pleasantly surprised by how good it made him feel. And it helped to pass the time during the long nights when he could not sleep. The party Anders told him about was two days away and the waiting had been the most miserable torture—softened only by Feyrn's youthful spirit. It made him think of his own children—made him ache for his lover and the family Salea tried to give him.

He found himself wondering more and more what they would be like. Would they have Salea's light skin and dark hair? Would they be boys? Girls? Would they suffer the curse of lyrium in their veins like their father? Salea was born of a family of mages. Would they be taken away by the Templars when their magic manifested? Would they be hunted? It made Fenris shudder—made him very afraid to think that his unborn children might be the very thing he's feared and hated for so long. It made him question himself. Could he despise his own flesh and blood—Salea's—for being whatever they would be?

He felt ashamed that he did not know the answer to that question. He loved Salea. Would he have felt the same if Salea had inherited his father's magic as Bethany had? He wanted desperately to say yes. Yet there was doubt—uncertainty. He'd had a lifetime to build prejudice and hatred and it was not so easily quelled.

Speaking with Feyrn, though, night after night, he finally decided that even if his children were mages he and Salea could protect them—could raise them well to be strong like Salea's father was, like Bethany was. They would never have reason to enter into contracts with demons. They would never be so weak or afraid.

At least that is what he kept telling himself—what he needed to keep telling himself. Watching Feyrn, who reminded him so much of Salea, Fenris knew somewhere deep down that he could never turn away from children born of his lover—children sharing everything that is so good and lovely in Salea Hawke.

Later that night when Fenris finally managed to sleep something happened that had not happened for a long time. His spirit was drawn in to walk the Fade. But unlike the last time he traversed the Fade with Salea, this time there were no demons. No demons haunting the dark corners trying to tempt those who passed through. Fenris walked the empty hall unhindered. The very air around him seemed warmer, brighter than he remembered—unclouded by a dream's haze. He walked until he reached a round courtyard. A stone fountain stood in the middle, but it was empty and weathered. Sitting on the edge of the fountain with their back turned to him was a lone figure with long dark hair.

"Salea?" Fenris nearly choked.

When the figure did not turn Fenris rushed forward and fell to his knees before the sitting figure. It was his lover, but a mere shadow of the man he knew. Salea was too pale, too thin. Darkness around his eyes spoke volumes of his sleepless nights. The brightness in his lover's gold-brown eyes was dulled. Even so, this shadow of Hawke seemed to be enjoying the gentle breeze that rustled his hair, the warm sun on his face. Was this a moment from Salea's past? Then Fenris looked down. He'd been so focused on his lover's beautiful face he hadn't noticed the roundness of his belly. Fenris swallowed staring at that visual proof of his children. It was one thing to be told, another entirely to see his lover's flesh stretched over the nearly grown babes. Had it really been so long?

"Salea?" he said softly. With a tentative hand he reached out to the phantom version of his lover. But before he could touch and prove without a doubt that this was not really Salea, he pulled his hand back. "Salea," he whispered, pained to see his lover in such an empty state.

"He cannot hear you."

Fenris whirled around. There, suddenly, as if he materialized out of thin air, was the one they were searching for. More a man now than he was when they last met—not so much in years as experience. It was difficult to see the frightened child in the man before him. Whether he was there to help or not, Fenris did not know, but his appearance was still the best good news they'd had the whole trip.

"Feynriel?" he whispered.


	19. Chapter 19

Fenris swallowed thickly, staring at the young man, wary that he might disappear or that Fenris would wake at any moment to find none of it real. They were grasping at straws. They had been since they arrived. Feynriel was very well their last chance and hope of finding where Danarius was keeping Hawke. As if guessing his thoughts, Feynriel smiled.

"Yes, my friend, I am here."

Feynriel looked past Fenris to the shadow of Salea Hawke resting at the dry fountain. "He has dreamed much since he was taken," he said, a sadness permeating the Fade all around them.

Fenris turned back to his beloved. "He does not look well," he said, his voice sounding more akin to a groan of deep pain. Now that he knew this was his present day Salea and not an image from the past it was easy to see the suffering in his lover's face—and so very hard to contain the rage, knowing who was responsible.

Salea's skin was pale, a sheen of fevered sweat glistened in the fading light, his lips were robbed of their natural red hue that spoke of vibrant life. But though he suffered unseen ailments, many of which Fenris could guess, he remained beautiful, precious, and even more so with the evidence of their children blossoming beneath Salea's flesh. Fenris loved this man with a power beyond that which the Maker himself held for his Andraste. He was the only beauty Fenris' wretched, tortured soul could recognize any more. No man, demon, or sadistic bastard of a blood mage was going to keep Salea from him.

Certainly not now that he had the means to find him. He turned back to Feynriel.

"We were searching for you," he began.

"And about to go about it the wrong way," Feynriel said. "Asking anyone at that party about somniari, especially a specific somniari would have sounded every alarm that you and your companions are not who you say you are.

"We didn't have a choice," Fenris growled, his anger flaring. "We are out of options and very nearly out of time." He waved a hand at the shadow of Salea. Danarius wanted his children and Fenris could not bear to think what would happen to Salea once they were born, or worse, if the blood mage decided they were grown enough and tired of waiting. An image flooded into his mind of Salea lying in his own blood, his stomach ripped open, their babies bloodied and wailing in Danarius' arms. The force of it nearly dropped him to his knees where he stood. The Fade world swam around him and bile threatened his throat. He knew without a doubt that this could be the exact state in which he found Salea. Such a horrendous act was not beyond his old master. Danarius was a monster without conscience, without regret, incapable of caring about the beauty he destroyed.

He looked at Feynriel. "We must find him." The sound was rough, tortured. Feynriel could feel the agony of his separation from Salea like a palpable, living thing in the air around them. He stepped forward and laid a hand on the warrior elf's shoulder.

"I have come for that very purpose," Feynriel said. "When the smallest creature dreams, I can influence its reality if I choose to do so. There is no where I cannot traverse in the Fade—no one I cannot visit if the need is strong enough." He paused. "I have witnessed many of Hawke's dreams and nightmares, but I have not dared visit him. The magister's hold over his mind is too strong, too constant to risk. But there are others. Others in the magister's company whose dreams are unprotected. One in particular is willing to help. She may even be in a position to get you and your people inside the fortress where Danarius is hiding."

It spoke volumes that Fenris did not care how much power the young man possessed. All his hatred toward mages and their weakness to temptations was no longer so important beyond one in particular, and that one would not live long enough to hurt anyone else with his blood magic.

Fenris shook his head, eyes brightening with hope. "She need not risk herself if we can help it. All I need," Fenris rumbled, his lyrium tattoos sizzling to life, "is a location."

In the face of such devotion Feyrniel could only accede.

"I will come to you and your companions soon," he said.

"You are in Minrathous?"

Feynriel nodded. "My master is a good man. I am not a slave," he said when Fenris frowned. "He teaches me to control my power. Of course, it didn't hurt when I mentioned the humiliation of a rival magister."

"There will be far more than humiliation involved," Fenris promised.

Feynriel followed Fenris' gaze to the shadow of Hawke. "This is a dream Salea began having only a few days ago—ever since Danarius began allowing him time outside. Salea's health is failing and as a result Danarius has been forced to lessen his hold over his mind. There will be no better opportunity to rescue him than when he is outside of the tower prison."

Fenris only nodded. When he turned away to return the way he came, Feynriel called to him. When he looked back Feynriel took a deep breath before continuing.

"There is something you should know, something you should see before you meet Danarius." He swallowed. "I do not show you to hurt you, but to remove any hesitation that he deserves everything you do to him."

Fenris growled. "There will be no hesitation. Not this time. Danarius will die by my hand."

"Even so." The half elf lifted his fingers to his temple. Fenris dropped to his knees under the assault of images, the screams of raw pain from his lover's throat. When he woke on his pallet at the inn his lyrium glow was lighting the entire room and his body shook uncontrollably. Memories of his own torture at Danarius' hands slowly filtered to the surface of his mind. Fear threatened to overwhelm him. Years of slavery, of obeying without question no matter how sickening or monstrous the act he was ordered to perform, tried to catch hold of that deeply buried cowardice that had kept him running from his master for so many years.

But Feynriel was right. Danarius' cruelty had ingrained a fear deep inside him, a small discrepancy that could cost them dearly when they finally faced him. But all it took was one glimpse of what Feynriel just showed him to squelch that pitiful fear and unleash his own monster.

Danarius was going to suffer.


	20. Chapter 20

When Fenris told the others what he learned from Feynriel, they were more than ready and eager for the fight ahead of them—to finally get their friend back. It was only a matter of planning. Feynriel was meeting them soon and they would have a place to strike at last.

"Did you see him?" Anders asked finally after sitting in silence while Fenris explained the situation. He and all the others looked to the elf.

Fenris swallowed thickly. Rage rushed through his veins at the memory of what Feynriel showed him. "Yes," he said at last, his voice hoarse and dangerously low. "Only a shadow." His muscles trembled with pent up fury, and even more than that, pain. Seeing Hawke like that opened a chasm inside of him so dark and abysmal it ached and echoed back to him over and over his failure.  
For some time no one spoke and in the silence his fury grew. Every muscle was tense, every tendon drawn tight as a bow string ready to snap. It was terrifying even for those who were accustomed to his anger—terrifying for Fenris who knew that perhaps this time the slightest resistance might shatter and defeat him.

His companions exchanged nervous glances.

"Um," Merrill nearly squeaked. Isabela shook her head hurriedly, but Merrill trudged on, a question on her mind that she and everyone present wanted badly to know the answer to. "How—how is he? Do you know?"

A muscle in his cheek twitched when his jaw clenched. Just the mention of his lover brought the images flooding back again, so vivid. As if he'd been there when Danarius force-fed Salea raw lyrium; heard the terrible screams for himself as the magic material burned through the man's body—as if he'd stood off to the side and done nothing. Knowing his lover suffered the pain and illness caused by the lyrium over and over by his old master's hand…

Fenris gripped his other hand like a vise in an attempt to control himself and keep his mouth shut. Speaking would only unleash his fury, and these people did not deserve his wrath.

"Come along, kitten," Isabela broke the intense silence with a nervous glance at Fenris. "Let's go have drink. It may be our last chance for a while." The sea captain quickly pulled Merrill out of the room and Varic followed along after with a deep sigh. Sebastian stepped forward and put a hand on the elf's shoulder. Anders expected Fenris to throw the comforting hand off him and storm about the room destroying what furniture remained from his last outburst. Normally, he would not have been wrong to expect such behavior. But it was different this time. There was only so much a person could take. It seemed Fenris had reached his limit. If they did not get to Salea very soon he did not know what the elf would do. Something extremely foolish and suicidal, no doubt.

Fenris merely nodded his appreciation and Sebastian left with Donnic on his heels. Anders rose to do the same—give the elf time alone until Feynriel arrived.

"Danarius…" Fenris began, then stopped. Anders turned back. "He made Salea drink raw lyrium. What—" Fenris swallowed thickly. "What will it do to him?"

Anders closed his mouth just realizing it must have fallen open in shock. He cleared his throat. "I don't know. If he were a mage it would have killed him. I'm afraid there is no way to know how he has been affected until we get him back."

The mage saw such pain come over the elf's face before he bowed his head with a shallow nod. Fenris did not expect an answer, he knew there wasn't one. What Danarius was doing to Hawke was different from what Fenris remembered from his own lyrium infusion. The consequences to both Salea and the babes were entirely unknown.

"Sal—Hawke is strong," Anders said softly moving to the door. "Probably stronger than us all. He'll be all right."

Anders left unsure why he'd felt the urge to comfort his rival. Most likely because he needed to hear it as well—even if it might have been an empty platitude.

~~>^.^<~~

Feynriel arrived under the cover of darkness. The slave boy Feyrn was only too willing to help sneak the half-elf through the servant entrance in the back of the kitchens. Fenris hadn't liked the idea of the sweet boy endangering himself, but he couldn't deny the necessity. To lessen the risk to the boy, Fenris and his companions ensured no one was around either inside or outside the inn to see Feynriel's arrival. There was only one patron who stepped out of their room while the group traversed the halls, and Anders took care of them with a confusion spell that would ensure they did not remember a thing.

Fenris said a quiet good-bye to the slave boy he had grown attached to over the long weeks spent in hell. Feyrn surprised the warrior elf with a hug. Thin arms wrapped tightly around Fenris' waist and squeezed. Fenris swallowed the lump in his throat, a hesitant hand lifting to rest on the boy's head. When Feyrn pulled away Fenris felt his heart constrict in his chest at the sight of the boy's gentle, sweet smile.

"I hope you find your friend, Fenris," the boy whispered. Then he was disappearing back down the dark hallway too quickly. There were so many things Fenris wanted to tell the boy, so much he wanted to do for him. But in a blink the small child was swallowed up by the shadows and Fenris was alone. The thought of leaving Feyrn in this place sickened him, but Fenris had not come to free slaves. He could not help them all. He came for one thing and one thing only. Dividing his attention on any other task, anything other than Salea, could mean failure, and that was not an option. Not for him. Not ever.

Once behind closed doors Feynriel greeted the people who once risked their souls, and their lives in the Fade to help him keep his own.

"I know many of you did not agree with Messere Hawke(1) when he refused to turn me over to the Templars." Feynriel looked around the room at them all, his gaze resting finally on Fenris. "But you were willing to give me a chance to choose my own path because of your trust and loyalty to a single man. Now that man needs us to do the same for him." Feynriel let out a heavy breath, revealing that what he was going to say next was difficult. "Unfortunately I cannot be physically involved with Messere Hawke's rescue. Because of my position in this society I cannot risk the reputation of my master and his House. Please do not interpret this as unwillingness or cowardice because there is no one I would wish more to aid than Salea." Anders and Merrill were nodding their understanding, as if they had expected as much. Others seemed disappointed they would not have another body to take into battle. Fenris only stared hard at the floor, his arms crossed over his chest.

"I am not a warrior," Feynriel continued. "Nor am I a battlemage. But I assure you my skills will be invaluable to you and I can perform them from a safe distance without risking that which I need to protect. I can get you into the fortress. I cannot take care of all the guards—Danarius has a small army guarding himself and his prisoner—but I can do enough to give you a chance."

"Where is he?"

Everyone looked at Fenris.

"It is a watchtower fortress on the outskirts of the old part of the city. Mostly abandoned, until now. The city sentinels sometimes take up posts there, but it is a bit rundown and they don't like to use it since they have to chase out the poor and homeless every time. Seemed like a good place for Danarius to hole up. It is well fortified. No one would really care or really even notice him taking up residence there for a short time. Anyone who might oppose would be easily dealt with."

Anders scoffed. "Sound familiar?" he said to no one in particular. Danarius had essentially done the exact thing with the mansion in Kirkwall that Fenris now lived in illegally.

"All right then," Varric said in the silence that followed. "What is our first step? And how soon can we do this?"

"First," Feynriel said. "None of Danarius' people will have keys into the fortress itself, nor really, any of the doors inside. So, our only quiet way in lies in the hands of a slave girl named Lillan. She is the only one Danarius allows to have her own set of keys. She runs his errands and currently is the only one allowed to tend Messere Hawke without Danarius' presence. I have visited her and spoken at great lengths with her." Fenris stood up straighter, a look of dislike on his face. "She wants to help," Feynriel insisted. "She will involve herself whether we want her to or not. She told me herself. Better that her involvement is limited and on our terms. She will get us into the fortress. That is all. After that it is up to us."

Fenris nodded. He did not like the girl risking herself, but honestly, what choice did they have other than to scale the walls and raise every alarm? It would ruin their one chance of getting Salea back.

"And the other question?" Sebastian said. "When can we start?"

Feynriel glanced around the room at them, knowing by their expressions that they were anxious, practically jumping out of their skins to be gone, to be fighting.

"We can go tonight," he said. "If you can be ready—"

"We're ready," Fenris growled.

 

Endnotes:  
1- In game, Messere is a form of address for someone of higher or greater status. Feynriel uses this term for Hawke as he holds only the greatest respect for the man who risked everything to take a chance on a kid he'd never before met.


End file.
